The Women in his Life
by SylvieT
Summary: "Relax," he said, giving her hand another gentle squeeze. "She's going to love you." Sara's first meeting with Grissom's mother, and a woman from his past. Based on spoilers for 11.13 The Two Mrs Grissoms. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It would seem Grissom's mother's not dead after all and since hearing the rumours about episode 11.13, _The Two Mrs Grissoms_, I've been thinking of how the writers are going to introduce her to us, fans. I hope they don't mess it up but it got me wondering about Sara's first encounter with her, and this is it.

This is slower paced than my usual fare, genteel even, and hopefully angst-free for this festive season and set toward the end of season six. I'm operating in unchartered waters here as regards Grissom's mother whom I've called Betty, and I could be way-off base with her character. I hope not.

* * *

The Two Women in his Life.

* * *

Grissom pulled the car up on the drive, cut the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt turned toward Sara. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet this last stretch of the journey and he watched as she dipped her head, peering through the windshield at the house, her eyes darting almost fearfully about the building. Her features were stiff, her face closed off, her jaw set in apprehension and his heart went out to her.

She had been worrying about this visit, this first encounter with his mother, ever since he'd mentioned – in passing he might add – that after letting it slip that he was dating, his mother had expressed an interest in meeting the woman that had to be keeping him from visiting more often. Grissom believed the comment was said as a joke, Sara wasn't so sure, and consequently a trip to Marina Del Rey had promptly been arranged.

Sara took in a deep calming breath, her gaze dropping from the house to her lap as she closed her eyes. Shifting on the seat he placed his hand over hers on her thigh and patted it warmly, encouragingly. Immediately her face lit up with a smile and she refocused her gaze on to him. "Relax," he said, giving her hand another gentle squeeze. "She's going to love you."

Sara swallowed, the nod she gave him somewhat unconvinced. She undid her seatbelt, shuffling forward on the seat to check her appearance in the pocket mirror on the sun visor. "How do I look?" she asked uncertainly touching up her hair.

Grissom watched her with a fond smile on his lips. "Beautiful."

Her purse of the mouth was disbelieving. "No, really." She turned toward him, smoothing down her top. "Is this okay? Should I have put on a dress?"

"Sara, stop," he said firmly. "Just be yourself; the rest will take care of itself."

She paused, raising her shoulders in a small self-conscious shrug. "This is a big deal for me, you know?"

He took her hands in his, stilling their restlessness, and brought them up to his lips. "I know," he said gently kissing them. "And I thank you for it."

"You're not worried at all?"

He gave her a soft shake of the head in reply. "I've every confidence."

She smiled, pulling her right hand out of his grasp to cup his face. Staring into his eyes she brushed her thumb across his clean shaven cheek and nodded her head at him. "You're right," she said at last, forcing a bright smile. "I'm being silly. She's going to love me."

Grissom let out a small chuckle. "That's the spirit."

"Just don't leave me alone with her, okay?" she added in all seriousness.

He leaned across and took her face in his hands, kissing her softly on the lips. "I'm staying right by your side." Then he shrugged, smiling sweetly. "You'll be fine," he said finally but despite her ensuing nod he could tell she was still far from convinced.

Grabbing her purse she turned to open the door. "Okay, let's do it before I lose my nerve."

He stopped her by the arm and shook his head, briskly nodding toward her hand on the door handle. "I've a feeling we're being watched," he said cautiously.

Sara frowned, her head dipping again as she cast a furtive look toward the house but before she'd had time to ask for clarification of his suddenly peculiar behaviour he had walked round the car, now holding the door open for her.

"There's a certain…etiquette to how things are done around here," he said with an apologetic shrug as he held out his hand for her to take.

"And you tell me this now?" she asked in a disparaging tone. She took his hand as she stepped out of the car and straightened her pants while he reached into the back of the Mercedes for her jacket. "Don't you think that is something I needed to know before you throw me into the lion's den?"

He laughed but his laugh was slightly uneasy, and he motioned for her to turn so he could help her into her jacket. "I didn't want to scare you off," he said quietly when she turned back to face him.

She paused in her buttoning, looking up at him abruptly. Her frown was one of worry, visibly unsure as to whether his throwaway comment hid a more sinister truth. He grinned at her teasingly and she shook her head at him, her lips suddenly curving into a knowing smile. "Is this why you shaved?" she asked candidly, reaching up to brush the back of her hand to his cheek.

His moue was part-amused, part-embarrassed and he shrugged, replying, "Maybe."

Breaking the contact he moved to the trunk and pulled out their overnight bags. Sara held out her hand for hers but he shook his head briskly, once again nodding toward the house.

"I'll be fine," he said breezily, slamming the trunk shut. "Just lead the way, my dear."

Happy to play along with his chivalry games Sara winked and preceded him to the front door. She waited until he was by her side to ring the bell.

"You didn't need to ring the bell, Sara," he said, dropping the bags by his feet. He took her hand, squeezing it far harder than he meant to. He was about to open the door himself when it opened all too suddenly, startling the couple into stiff stances.

"Gilbert!"

The woman who opened the door was almost as tall and slender as Sara. A wide grin lit up her face, blue eyes crinkling and shining with excitement behind a pair of stylish tortoiseshell glasses. Wearing tailored cream pants with a matching silk blouse, short honey-coloured curls tamed elegantly into a swept back crop à la Elizabeth Taylor she looked a lot younger than her seventy-two years.

A tense smile plastered on her face Sara's fingers tightened their hold on Grissom's hand and she could only stare awestruck and dumbstruck at the imposing woman before her.

"Hi, mom," Grissom said easily, his smile one of pleasure and exhilaration at seeing his mother. He leaned across to kiss her softly on the cheek but she opened out her arms, enveloping him into a tight hug and he laughed, letting go of Sara's hand to return the warm embrace. "It's not been that long," he told her as he pulled back.

Smiling pleasurably, he turned to Sara, his fingers finding their way to the small of her back. "This is Sara," he said proudly, turning back to address his mother.

Betty's gaze flicked from her son's lips to Sara's face and she smiled pleasantly. Thrusting her hand at Sara she said in a loud voice, "Nice to meet you, Sara."

Smiling brightly Sara shook the proffered hand and nodding her head over-zealously made eye contact. "You too, Mrs Grissom."

Turning back to Grissom, his mother signed, "Finally."

Grissom chuckled a little uneasily and glanced at Sara. She was watching him her brow raised enquiringly and his smile lost a little sparkle and he shook his head a little awkwardly at her silent question.

"Please, come in," Betty said, opening her hand toward the inside of the house. She stepped back into the room to make way and Grissom gently nudged Sara forward while he grabbed their bags. Noticing her reluctance to enter he straightened up and leaned in close to her ear. "It's going to be fine," he said, way too loudly for Sara's liking. "She loves you already. I can tell."

Sara's nod was stiff, her bright smile wavering now that Betty had her back to them. "You can?" she whispered back with surprise as Grissom guided her inside, shutting the door after them.

Betty suddenly turned back to them, holding her hand out and Grissom immediately took off his jacket. Sara followed suit with a little start before smiling and lifting her right hand flat to her chin, then moving it out as she confidently signed, "Thank you." She looked around the sitting room and meeting Betty's gaze, once again raised her hands to sign, "You have a lovely home."

Betty's eyes widened with delight, her gaze flicking between Grissom and Sara incredulously. "You sign?" she asked the young woman, accompanying her spoken words with the corresponding hand movement.

Sara's shake of the head was brisk and Grissom couldn't help sigh inwardly at the flitting look of disappointment that passed across his mother's face. Hoping Sara hadn't noticed he returned his attention on her. She was looking down at her hands, her features taking on a level of deep concentration and determination she normally reserved with collecting and analysing evidence.

She glanced up at Grissom who smiling nodded his encouragement. "Grissom's been teaching me," she signed hesitantly, "so a little but not so good."

Grissom's smile was pleasurable and so very proud. "Sara's a fast learner," he told his mother using both his hands and words, looking at Sara.

"Grissom?" his mother wondered aloud with a very similar arch of her brow to her son's.

Grissom turned his attention back to his mother, about to explain when Sara placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Gil," she corrected, using her fingers to correctly spell each letter of his given name. Her gaze went from Betty to Grissom, looking at him for confirmation and he could only smile lovingly back at her.

Betty gently shook her son's arm for attention. "Dinner is almost ready," she told him quickly with her hands, "I'll go fetch some drinks. Why don't you show Sara the house? I've made up the spare room for her; I hope it's okay." Grissom opened his mouth to argue the point but thought better of it. He simply nodded his head, watching as with one last smile toward Sara his mother turned her back on them, disappearing toward the kitchen.

Sara was watching him her eyes wide with fear. "All I got from that was 'house'," she told him despondently.

He let out an uneasy chuckle, which he tried to conceal behind a quick kiss on her lips. "She's fetching us some drinks," he said, without meeting her eye as he stooped to pick up their bags. "I'll go put these away. You make yourself at home."

Sara watched him with concern. "I'll come with," she said quickly with a wary glance toward the kitchen.

He paused and turned, nodding at her rather sombrely.

She mirrored his expression. "Gil? Why the long face?"

He pursed his face at her and sighed. "Come; I'll show you."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for your tremendous response to the first chapter. If that doesn't get me posting quickly nothing will!

I really hope you like this chapter as much as the previous one.

* * *

"This is my room," he said a little gloomily stopping in front of an open door at the top of the stairs. The room was immaculately clean and yet so very Grissom. The walls were blue adorned by rows upon rows of shelves of books and models or covered with frames after frames of multi-coloured specimen of all kinds of flora and fauna.

Wide-eyed, Sara slowly took in the sight before her. Then she took a hesitant step in, walking past the double bed to take a closer look at one encased display in particular.

Grissom tossed his bag on the bed, joining her side. Standing just behind her he said softly, "Nothing escapes your trained eye, I see."

Sara turned her face toward him awaiting his explanation. He smiled obligingly, saying, "You know my father was a botanist, right?" To her soft nod, he added, "He's the one who got me started collecting stuff. I didn't get into bugs for a long time. I was into plants first and this…is the first sample I ever framed." He shrugged a little self-consciously, refocused his gaze on the frame, and gave a smirk at his handiwork. "Not my best, I'm afraid."

"How old were you?" she asked, keeping her eyes on him.

He chuckled to himself, his mouth twisting in amusement. "Four, I think. _Clematis lasiantha_," he read, peering at his own overly large, badly formed handwriting. "The Pipestem Clematis."

An indulgent smile playing on her lips, Sara nodded and lifted her hand to stroke his face, her eyes flicking to the rest of the room beyond his shoulder. "This room is like a time capsule."

His brow rose and he snorted at her comment. "I'm not that old!"

"You know what I mean," she smiled.

And he did, for Sara didn't have a place like this, a window into a happy childhood where time had simply stopped. He shrugged again and took a moment to view his bedroom from her perspective. It said so much about the boy that would become the man, the enigma that was Grissom. "Well," he began, "apart from the double bed which is a new addition – well a relatively new addition, I guess you'd say – all the rest dates back to before I left for university."

Sara noticed he was still holding her overnight bag and sensing something was visibly amiss with him eyed him with sudden unease. "What's wrong, Gil?"

Grissom let out a long sigh, took her hand and walked out of the room. Then he opened the door across the landing, pausing at the threshold. "And _this_ is your room," he said with a slight pout.

"Oh." Sara pinched her lips but couldn't help the soft snort escaping any more than her ensuing giggle. Dropping his hand she stepped into the room, gave it a quick once over before plopping herself down on the edge of the single bed, bouncing the mattress a few times. "This will do me nicely," she told him, her grin wide and full of mirth.

He pulled a face at her and set her bag down on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, slumping down next to her. "I didn't think she'd segregate us."

"That's a little harsh." He gave a little shrug, and Sara laughed. "It's only for one night," she said.

"Two," he amended gloomily.

She draped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him toward her. "She's from a different generation, Gil. I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it."

"Sara," he said his tone almost scolding. "I'm fifty years old. I'm sure she knows-" he sighed short-temperedly the rest of the sentence and shook his head at the ludicrousness of the situation. "Besides we already live together," he added with exaggerated self-pity, "more or less."

The smile wouldn't leave her lips. "Have you told her that?"

He shrugged, muttering sulkily, "Not in so many words."

"So what did you expect?" she asked softly, her hand moving to his head.

"That she'd see me as a fifty-year-old man maybe?"

Mischief gleamed in her eyes and weaving her fingers through his hair, she ruffled his curls as though he were a child. He twisted his head away with annoyance and Sara dropped her hand, sobering up.

"You're overreacting," she said cautiously. "I'm guessing this is new to her too, right? Maybe if you'd told, forewarned her, you know, explained-"

"I shouldn't have to." Shaking his head he pulled a face and made to get up. "I'm going to go tell her now."

"No," Sara said quickly her hand on his arm stopping him. "Please don't. She'll think it's come from me."

"I'll just have to tell her it didn't."

"No, please, Gil, I don't want to make her uncomfortable in her own house."

He paused and turned toward her. Sara had been worried about this visit and he knew she wanted to make a good impression and for his mother to like her – if not approve of her. Now was not the time to rock the boat. A smile breaking across his features, he slowly nodded his head. "Okay. Next time we come I'll tell her."

"I've a feeling you won't need to," she said, cupping his face. "See it from her side. It's the first time she meets me; she didn't know what to expect and she probably edged her bets."

Grissom pulled her to him, kissing her softly on top of the head. "You're right. Thank you." Sara unexpectedly burst out laughing and he pulled back, looking at her suspiciously. "What?" he drew out.

"Or maybe she did it deliberately to test us," she said, giggling. Then she ruffled his hair. "Or rather, to test me. See if I'm a good girl or if I lead her little boy astray."

That raised a grin and wrapping his arms around her he pushed her back onto the bed playfully. Sara gave a startled squeal of delight that quickly turned into full blown laughter. "Shh," she said, coming to her senses and pushing up against him, "she could hear us."

Propping himself on his forearms, he shifted position until his body covered hers and she sank into the thick quilt. He watched her intently for a moment and pushed a tendril of hair out of her eyes. "She can't hear us, Sara," he said smiling before kissing her gently on the mouth.

Feeling Sara's response he deepened the kiss, his right hand finding its way to the side of her face, her throat, down to the edges of her blouse and Sara let out a low moan. Her moan soon turned into mumbled objections and she pushed at him, twisting her face away.

"Gil, stop," she whispered loudly, laughing and craning her neck to check the open door. Firm hands pushed harder against his chest until he had no choice but to raise himself off her. "Your mother's waiting for us."

The grin he beamed at her was pure mischievousness. "I'll just tell her I can't resist your wicked charms."

"And prove her point."

Looking mildly repentant he rolled onto his side. "I could always smuggle you into my room after dark," he mused in all seriousness.

Giggling Sara lightly punched him in the side. "If you carry on like this," she said, "not only will she never let us share a room but she won't ever invite me back."

"And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He pushed himself up and off the bed. "Come on," he said holding out his hand to her and winking, "let's get back or she'll definitely think you've led me astray."

* * *

"The table looks nice," he told his mother as he joined her side in the kitchen.

"Use your hands," she scolded him mildly, signing. "You're rusty." She looked beyond him into the next room. "Sara's okay?"

"She's in the bathroom." He moved to the cooker, lifting a couple of lids, checking on the food. "This looks great, mom. Thank you," he signed.

"It's my pleasure; it's not often I get the chance to spoil you." She fixed him intently, a fond smile breaking. "You look well. Not as tired as last time as I saw you."

He nodded, acknowledging her words awkwardly. "I'm good. Work's been…less hectic than usual."

"You need to look after yourself, Gil."

He nodded distractedly and took a peek into the oven. "You remembered Sara's a vegetarian, didn't you?" he signed a little cautiously.

Betty's face fell and she tapped her temple in thoughtlessness.

"Mother," he signed reproachfully.

Her face creased into a fond smile. "Relax. I may be old but I'm not senile. Of course I remembered Sara's a vegetarian. You only reminded me four times."

Grissom shrugged mildly and turned away. He took a handful of cashew nuts from a small bowl on the tray his mother had prepared and popped one into his mouth.

She tapped him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. "You're going to spoil your dinner."

He twisted his mouth at the old joke and she smiled indulgently, watching him as he ate another nut. "You like her, don't you?" she asked after a while with tentative hands. "She's special?"

He couldn't help the slight embarrassed flush of his cheeks at his mother's forthrightness and he finished chewing before nodding his head softly. He wondered about mentioning the inaptness of the sleeping arrangements but afraid to alter the mood thought better of it. He touched the tips of his fingers together before throwing them out, replying a shy, "Very."

"I'm glad," Betty said using words.

Grissom pursed his face in surprise; maybe the look that had passed across her eyes on first meeting Sara wasn't one of disappointment after all. "Me too," he replied, smiling. Out of the blue, he kissed her on the cheek.

Betty's grin was one of deep pleasure and she brought her hand to her cheek in surprise, taken aback by his display of affection. "Come on, take the drinks through," quick fingers instructed, her face shining with happiness. "Sara will be wondering what the hold-up is. I'll be along in a minute."

He picked up the tray of drinks and nibbles and took it through to the sitting room. Sara was bent over studying some books on display in a glass cabinet.

"Some of these are very old," he told her softly as he set the tray down, gently pushing aside what he knew was Sara's gift to his mother. "I think most of them were my father's, actually."

Sara turned, nodding her head in acknowledgement of his words, her gaze flicking to Betty as she joined them. He turned, following Sara's eyes.

"Gilbert," Betty signed, "be a good host. Pour Sara a drink; she must be parched after the long drive."

"Yes, mother," he signed back diligently causing his mother to chuckle pleasurably.

Sara startled from watching them, suddenly striding across the room and grabbing the small gift-wrapped box from the table, almost thrusting it in Betty's hands. "This is for you, Mrs Grissom," Sara signed hesitantly.

"You shouldn't have," Betty signed, speaking the words simultaneously.

"It's my pleasure," Sara signed back slowly and Grissom was proud to see she remembered perfectly the crash course in sign language pleasantries he'd taught her. "Thank you for having me."

Betty smiled, nodding and she opened the gift. Her face lit up with surprise on pulling out a long silk scarf in shades of blues and greens with elegantly fraying tassels on the ends. Immediately she draped it around her neck. "It's beautiful," she signed, looking at Sara first and then at her son.

"Don't look at me," he signed and said, "It was all Sara."

"Thank you," she spoke directly to Sara and it was evident that she genuinely meant the compliment.

Grissom felt himself swell with pride and love. He handed each woman a drink and picked up his, thinking that Sara's meeting with his mother couldn't have started any better. Maybe, he thought, they would get on like a house a fire. Okay, maybe like a house on fire was a tad too much to hope for but there was no harm in remaining hopeful, was there?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again I'm blown away by your amazing response to this story so far, and as you can see it is spurring me on. Thank you.

I'd like to wish a very Happy New Year 2011 to everyone. May it be the year of Grissom's return to CSI.

* * *

They sat down for dinner, Sara across from Grissom, his mother at the head of the table. Betty hadn't done things by half and Grissom wondered whether she was as intimidated meeting Sara as the younger woman was, meeting her. The thought made him smile, a sight that had Sara narrow her eyes at him. His smile turned tender and he shook his head mildly, hoping his gesture would put her mind at ease. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer before unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap.

Sara was doing great, remembering all the little pointers he'd given her in the car about how to address a deaf person and her signing, if tentative, often iffy or damn right funny was endearing. And the few times she came up short he was more than happy to interpret for her. He could tell his mother was appreciating the effort Sara was putting into communicating with her and for some reason he couldn't comprehend it was suddenly important that the two most important women in his life liked each other and got on.

He was reaching for the bottle of wine when his mother suddenly bowed her head, raising her hands, signing grace. Grissom's hand immediately drew back from the bottle, dropping to his lap, and he bowed his head. Sara stifled her smile, quietly following suit.

Supper at the Grissom's was a quiet affair, punctuated only by the scraping sound of cutlery on plate and a few spoken exchanges between the two guests. Grissom would sometimes look up from his nut roast to watch Sara, enquiring with his eyes whether she was okay. She would smile, glancing toward his mother before nodding her head in reply and he'd smile back, feeling strangely contented.

At the end of the meal Betty disappeared to the kitchen only to return with a wide beam on her face and a pineapple upside-down cake.

"It used to be Gil's favourite," she said with her hands once she'd set the plate down. Grissom gave a soft chuckle before grudgingly speaking the words to Sara.

Sara eyed Grissom with a half-raised brow, her face pursed in surprise. "I wonder what else I'm going to find out about you," she mused teasingly.

His laugh was on the slightly uneasy side. "Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he mumbled back. His mother placed a plate in front of Sara, holding out another one for him and without another word he took it, heartily cutting into his rather large piece.

"Thanks mom," he signed as he finished his last mouthful, "this was just as I remember it."

"Have a little more. Sara?"

"No, thank you, mom," he replied with his hands before patting his paunch, causing her to laugh.

Sara pushed her plate away, copying Grissom's hand gesture and adding when she caught Betty's eye, "I can see where Gil learnt to cook. This was truly delicious. You went to a lot of trouble."

"Don't mention it, please," Betty signed. "It's a pleasure." She paused, clearly hesitating, and glanced at Grissom before continuing, "Gil never brought many girls home – even when he was a boy."

Despite avidly watching Betty's hands Sara raised a deep, bewildered frown toward Grissom. "Girls, home and boy?" she repeated uncertainly.

"Mother," he signed quickly, "You're embarrassing me."

"Isn't that what a mother's supposed to do?" she signed back laughing. "Wait until I bring out that picture of you in the sheep costume your father took when you were five. Do you remember?"

Cheeks burning, Grissom whipped his head toward Sara but it was clear from the puzzled expression on her face that she hadn't understood any of it. The ghost of a smile playing on his lips at what he was about to do he gave her his own, slightly abbreviated version of the exchange. "Mother was saying that I never really brought any friends home before and I guess she's saying that it's nice when I do."

Sara nodded her head, turning to smile politely at Betty. "I'm glad to finally be able to meet you, Mrs Grissom. Gil talks about you often."

"Liar," Grissom said, knowing that his mother wouldn't know since she was intently watching Sara's lips.

Doing her best to ignore his comment, Sara rose to her feet and began gathering plates and cutlery into piles. Grissom followed suit, about to suggest to his mother that he and Sara went for a walk when she put her hand on his arm, stopping him. The sudden shift in her expression made him sit back down and share a confounded look with Sara.

Redirecting his eyes on his mother he watched as she caught Sara's eye and smiled, saying with haltered overly loud speech, "Sara, excuse me but I just need to talk to Gil for a moment." Then signing to Grissom, "Tell Sara that I don't mean to be rude and shut her out, and that I apologize if it appears that I am doing, but-" She paused and took a breath, her eyes finally meeting her son's anxious ones. Her smile widened and she patted his arm warmly, visibly waiting for him to relay her words to Sara.

"Gil?" Sara said, her voice tinged with caution.

He turned with a start and gave himself a shake of the head. "I'm sorry, honey," he said, reaching for her hand across the table before relaying his mother's words to her.

"Oh, no," Sara said, turning to address Betty. "You don't need to apologise. It's okay; I understand. You want some time to catch up with him. I'll just make a start on these." She motioned toward the plates and dishes ready to be taken through to the kitchen.

Betty waved her hands quickly in front of her in a negative gesture before pointing a sharp index finger toward her own chest. "Please." She turned toward Grissom, signing, "What I have to tell you won't take long." Grissom was eyeing his mother with growing concern. "Tell Sara she doesn't have to go."

"It's okay," Sara told him, "I'll just take these to the kitchen and make a start on unpacking."

He smiled, distractedly nodding his thanks and watching as Sara disappeared through to the kitchen. His smile faded, his eyes taking on a sorrowful expression as he once more turned to his mother, signing quickly, "You're not ill, are you?"

Her face softened at the concern in his face and she lifted her hand to his cheek, gently shaking her head. "No, no, nothing like that." She smiled. "All the tests from my last mammography were clear, you know that." He simply nodded his head, waiting for her to continue. She took a breath. "No, it's something else. I've invited Julia for dessert tomorrow lunch that's all."

His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "You what?"

"I've invited Juli-"

He stopped her before she could spell out the whole of Julia's name. "I understood what you said," he signed quickly, "what I don't understand is why."

Betty flustered at the sharpness of her son's signing. "She happens to be in town and- Why not? You and her are friends, aren't you?"

"Mother, don't play me for a fool."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Gil. Julia is a friend of mine too, whom I haven't seen for a long time and she just so happens to be in town this week. I didn't think you'd mind."

"What about Sara?"

His mother registered a look of surprise. "What about Sara? She's your guest. I'm sure she and Julia will-"

"She's my girlfriend."

Betty was looking more and more bewildered by her son's reaction. "Of course she is. She's very nice, very pleasant and polite and she thinks the world of you, Gil. I like her."

"But?"

Betty sighed, visibly at a loss as to what was happening. "There is no 'but'." She shrugged. "There's something Julia and I want to talk to you about and since-" she paused abruptly, smiling as Sara re-entered the room.

"Sorry," Sara smiled. "I just needed-" she pointed to her purse on the floor, pausing on noticing the chill in the air.

Grissom shook himself out of his shock, lifting doleful eyes toward her. Standing up abruptly, he tried a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's okay, Sara," he said, "You weren't interrupting anything. We were finished anyway. Weren't we?" he signed to his mother.

Betty nodded her head a little sadly. She took a small breath, about to say more to her son but instead refocused her gaze on Sara, watching her uncertainly for a little while before smiling as she signed, "Sara, you play dominoes?"

Sara made a puzzled face and looked at Grissom for help. Unwilling to involve Sara in their argument, he politely relayed his mother's question but gave her a brisk shake of the head. Sara's gaze hesitantly flicked from Grissom to Betty. After a short pause, good manners won over Grissom's disquiet and she smiled graciously, replying, "As a matter of fact I do. But I haven't played in a long time."

Grissom sighed, pursing his face in irritation before briskly crossing the room, opening a dresser drawer and pulling out a worn-out small cardboard box.

Betty rose to her feet, following her son to the dresser. She took out a bottle, which she brought to the table. "Sara, would you care for a glass of sherry?"

Sara took her place at the table, her eyes once again on Grissom, and she shook her head at Betty. "No, thank you. Not for me."

"Gil?" his mother enquired.

"Me neither." He set the box down on the table, let out a long sigh, and then tapped his mother on the forearm. She turned toward him, and he took a breath, his hands poised in mid-air before suddenly taking on a life of their own. "I need a little fresh air and I told Sara I'd take her to see Fisherman's Village. It'll be dark soon and…do you mind if we…pass on the-"

His mother caught his hands with hers, stilling them and she shook her head before finally signing, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you and I can see I have."

Sara's brow furrowed in recognition of the sign for 'sorry' and she looked at Grissom enquiringly. "Gil? Is everything all right?"

He swallowed, the smile he shot her thin, the nod unconvincing. "Let's go see the lighthouse now. I need to stretch my legs." He turned to his mother, signing, "You didn't upset me. It just came as a shock, that's all, especially since Sara's here."

"Gil?"

He paused, turning back to address Sara. "I'll explain in a moment." He reached over for her hand on the table and squeezed it gently, accompanying his gesture with a loving smile.

Sara's gaze veered to Betty as she wondered whether she was the reason for the sudden shift in the mood but the older woman was busy gathering the rest of the plates and dishes and didn't notice. Grissom made to leave but Sara hung back uncertainly. Betty looked up and Sara smiled a little nervously.

"Mrs Grissom," she signed hesitantly, "Thank you again for the meal. It was excellent." She paused and looked toward Grissom who was waiting, hovering by the door. "How do you sign, we won't be long?" she asked him.

He sighed, grudgingly raising his hands to pass on Sara's message. Sara watched his hands and turned back toward Betty, copying his finger movement to the letter.

"You've very welcome, my dear," Betty signed back with a smile, looking like she meant her words.

Grissom watched his mother with disbelief for a moment, then shook his head and dragged a bewildered Sara out of the room. "I'm sorry about dragging you away," he said a little curtly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I know how much you love playing dominoes."

Sara tugged at his hand and he paused. "Gil? Talk to me. What happened in there?"

He lifted a small shoulder, too immersed in his own thoughts to pick up on Sara's fears. "I'll go get our coats," he told her, dropping her hand, not meeting her gaze. "The wind can get chilly at this time of night."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Grissom's writing cheques I'm not sure I can cash. Let me know if he needs reeling in.

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He took off at a brisk pace down the street, Sara hooking her arm in the crook of his elbow and silently falling into step in him. They rounded a corner, then another one before Sara asked a little breathlessly, "What's your pulse at now?"

He startled as if noticing for the first time that he wasn't on his own, and slowed down his pace a fraction. "I've not been this mad in a long time."

Sara nuzzled her face to the side of his shoulder and he turned, giving her a small, sad, yet grateful smile. His free hand came up to cover hers in his elbow, and he leaned in toward her to brush his lips against her temple.

"What happened?" she asked softly. He shrugged and picking up on his hesitation she prompted, "Is it about me? Because you know it's okay if she doesn't like me." When he didn't reply she added teasingly, "It certainly doesn't change how I feel about you."

His brow rose and he couldn't help the soft snort of laughter at her words.

"Because you know," she continued, a sudden smile breaking across her face, "I like her. I think she's very nice and that she's done a great job raising you on her own and she's lucky to have you as a son."

He stopped walking suddenly and turned toward her. "Oh, Sara, honey, what on earth made you think she doesn't like you?"

Sara's smile faded and she looked down, lifting a small shoulder. "I just thought, you know, what else would you two fall out about?"

His face closed off and he let out a sigh. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm handling this all wrong." Gentle fingers tilted her face up and he smiled. "She likes you, Sara, she even told me so herself. You've been great with her. Besides what isn't there to like?" His smile widened and he resumed walking at a slow pace, tucking her hand back in its former place in the crook of his elbow. "No, it's something else. She's done something that's unfair on you, Sara, and I didn't like it."

Sara pondered his words for a moment. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that, huh?"

He watched her and smiled but remained silent.

"Come on, _what_ could she have done that would make you go all mother bear on me?"

He laughed, then shrugged and refocused his gaze to the multi-coloured lights illuminating Fisherman's village up ahead in the distance. "She invited an old friend of ours to dessert tomorrow lunchtime." To Sara's puzzled expression he added, "She's non-hearing too."

"And you think that bothers me?"

"Doesn't it?"

"No. This is a part of your life, a part of you I'm only just getting to know. I want to meet all your friends."

"She's not-" He closed his eyes with a wince. "It's not like that, Sara."

"How do you mean?"

"Her name's Julia," he said in a long breath. "Julia Dixon, Holden now. My mother's always been active in the deaf community and when Julia lost her hearing to German measles when she was ten my mother met her mother and they became friends. Good friends, the closest friends. I was thirteen, I think and in turn Julia and I got to spend a lot of time together-" he let the rest of his sentence trail with another long sigh, throwing an uncertain sideways glance at Sara, gauging for her reaction.

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed." He pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling the heat. "Anyway, they always thought we'd…go the whole hog, you know?" he faltered.

"And?"

"And evidently we didn't," he said quickly, unable to disguise his discomfort with the topic.

Sara stopped walking abruptly, and held him back by the arm. "She's the one who burned you bad, isn't she?"

He turned and lifted a reluctant shoulder before finally nodding his head. "How do you know about that?" he asked with a frown.

"Catherine," she replied quietly.

He pulled a face but didn't look overly surprised. He took her hand in his and crossed the street. "It all happened a very long time ago, Sara, and it ended when I left for Minnesota. Julia's always stayed in touch with my mother mainly through her mother but when her mother died five years ago, which was very hard on my mother, they grew close again."

Sara narrowed her gaze at his words but didn't probe further. "And you're worried it's going to be awkward for me tomorrow." She stopped, tugged his arm back and he paused. "It's probably going to be but as far as I'm concerned your mother's invited a friend of the family that you happened to date back in…" she did some quick maths, her lips pinching as a rogue smile escaped, "1974? 75?" She laughed. "God, I wasn't even in kindergarten yet!"

"When you put it like that you make me sound like a cradle snatcher," he mumbled. "And it was more like 79."

"My cradle snatcher," she mused teasingly.

At last he let out a chuckle. "Don't say another word." His expression became solemn. "You're not worried at all?"

"What? About meeting an ex-girlfriend of yours?" She shook her head. "No. I've every confidence."

He smiled, nodding his head, remembering he'd spoken those exact same words to her when they'd arrived at his mother's, and leaned across to kiss her softly on the mouth.

"I'm very surprised your mother didn't comment on the age difference actually," she said as he pulled back.

"Well, there's still time. I'm sure she's keeping some for tomorrow."

"It's only because she cares."

He hummed. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"And you do. You can hardly say she's the interfering kind, can you? You talk to her once a week, see her three times a year? If anything, I'm surprised she's not asked you to move closer to her, or even back home seeing you were a bachelor for so long."

The look he threw her made her laugh. "She has – on many occasions."

Sara's eyes were smiling at him with so much warmth and love that he suddenly felt foolish fearing seeing Julia after all these years. "I love you," he said out of the blue. "I love _you_. Remember that tomorrow when it gets too much."

Frowning, she lifted her hand to his face, her fingers brushing up along his jawline to his eyes, and she kissed him. "Thank you for bringing me here."

He acknowledged her words with a nod. "Come," he said, nodding his head toward the bright neon lights of Fisherman's Village. "I want to show you something."

She smiled, nodding and he smiled back before slipping his hand in hers and pulling her along at a brisk pace. "The ocean's just behind these buildings there," he said, tilting his face skyward as they trotted on the sidewalk. He sniffed the air around and walking backwards turned a wide grin toward her. "Can you smell it?"

Sara laughed a little breathlessly. "All I can smell is barbecued shrimp."

He ignored her blatant attempt at obtuseness. "There's this place near here I used to come to when I needed to blow off steam."

A slow brow rose. "Yeah?" Sara looked all around her, taking in the lights illuminating the dark night, the arrays of souvenir shops, restaurants, and small hustle and bustle of tourists mingling on the sidewalks, then up toward the starry sky. "I don't see any giant metal frames obscuring the view and you were too young to gamble."

Mischief tugged at his lips. "You're not even close. There is more to me than meets the eye, CSI Sidle."

She laughed. "Oh, and don't I know it!"

He stopped abruptly and Sara bumped into him. "If you ever breathe a word of what we're about to do to anyone – and I mean anyone – I'll…I don't know what I'll do but believe me it won't be pretty."

Sara feigned a serious expression but couldn't help grinning as she raised three fingers to shoulder height. "Scouts honour."

"You never were in the scouts."

"Okay then, cross my heart and hope to die."

He pursed his lips, as if making a point of deciding whether to trust her or not. "Okay," he said finally, taking off at a slow jog and dragging Sara in his wake.

He cut through a dark alleyway, and then another, leading her away from the noise and crowds, down some stony steps, eventually reaching a quiet secluded spot on the beach. The lights of the marina could be seen a hundred yards or so away, their reflection shimmering on the water. He walked half-way down the beach and stopped.

"I used to come here, Sara," he said quietly.

Sara did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan of the area, before refocusing on Grissom, her brow arching enquiringly.

"I used to come here just after dusk," he continued quietly, his eyes on the dark ocean. "See those rocks over there?" he asked, turning toward her and pointing.

Sara pushed her wind-swept hair out of her eyes and looked out to the point he'd been staring at, a couple of hundred yards out into the water. Her eyes narrowed at the dim light and she nodded.

"I'd swim there and back as fast as I could. Sometimes the water would be so cold that I'd get cramps and I wasn't sure I would make it back to shore but every time I did, and it always – _always_ – did the trick."

Sara slowly refocused her gaze on him, waiting for more.

He shrugged, his mouth twisting to the side in embarrassment of what he was about to confide. "I'd do it in the nude," he blurted out in a whisper. To her snort of laughter, he added defensively, "Hey, I was young and dumb and not a lot of people came after dark. And remember it was the seventies. People were cool about that kind of stuff then." Without making eye contact, he took her hand and walked to the water's edge where small waves lapped up at their feet.

Sara stepped back from the water, tugging on his hand and he turned to look at her. She was watching him with utter bewilderment and he shrugged again. Before she could say a word, he'd dropped her hand, slipped his shoes and socks off and stripped down to his boxers, his clothes dumped in a pile by her feet.

"These days," he added as if he'd never paused, "they'd do you for indecent exposure." He stepped into the water. "Come on, the water's the perfect temperature and I need letting off steam."

A wide grin dancing on her lips, she shook her head briskly. "Huh-Huh. Not me. Not here, not now. And certainly not in my underwear."

"Come on; don't be a spoilsport," he laughed, splashing a little water toward her with his foot. She jumped back with a small shriek of surprise. "You wanted to know more about me. And this is me!" He opened his arms out and fell back into the water, shouting, "Come and get me."

Sara watched him with disbelief for a few seconds longer. Then she picked up her jaw off the floor, scanned the beach for prying eyes and began taking her clothes off to the sound of his resonating laughter. She dipped a toe into the water, then another before gingerly joining his side, knee deep in water.

She wrapped her arms around her upper body, rubbing herself for warmth. "How are we going to dry ourselves?" she asked, giggling.

"Socks?"

She made a face at him and walked in deeper, suppressing a series of shivers, and with one last tremble of her lips slid into the water to her neck. Smiling, he watched her swim away with disbelief, looked back toward the deserted shore where their clothes lay and set off in slow pursuit.

"It's not so cold if you keep your head just above the water," she said as he reached her side.

His smile was tender and warm. "You know I never thought you'd actually do it." He stopped swimming and stood up.

She smiled back, stopping too. "I know. That's why I did it. It was worth risking pneumonia just to see you happy again."

Water was only waist deep where they stood and his smile widened to a naughty grin. "You make me happy," he said, his gaze sliding down her face to her chest. He teased his eyes over her breasts and pert nipples through her now see-through bra, and watching as she repressed a shiver he slowly closed the distance between them. "You make me feel nineteen again," he said, his eyes slowly gliding back up to her face, his voice just a above a whisper.

"I wish I'd known you when you were nineteen," she replied her expression turning solemn, her breath hitching at the ardour of his gaze.

Stopping inches from her he lifted his hand out of the water to push a tendril of damp hair out of her eyes. He cupped her face and leaned in toward her, his lips meeting hers softly. "I'm sure you were a very cute four-year-old," he murmured, before pulling back. Sara shivered and he moved his hands to her arms and rubbed them vigorously. "Come on," he said, "let's get back or you'll catch your death. This was a dumb idea."

"A cute four-year-old, huh?" Sara smiled, then winked before reaching down under the water to yank his boxers down to his knees. "First one back to shore gets to use the other one's clothes to dry with," she shouted, setting off at a rushed breaststroke.

Grissom burst out laughing and pulled his boxers back up. "We'll see about that!" He dived underwater only to emerge ahead of Sara and swim straight to shore.

"It's not fair," Sara pouted as she finally joined him, "I didn't want to get my hair wet."

Waiting for her at the water's edge he began drying her upper body with his T-shirt, then her arms and legs. Shivering, Sara picked up her blouse which she hurriedly slipped over her head before reaching under to unclasp her bra and pull it out. She slipped out of her panties while Grissom held out her pants for her. With a quick look up and down the beach he quickly dried himself off with the T-shirt, removed his boxers and got dressed in a flash. When he looked up Sara was watching him, smiling through her chattering teeth and he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, hugging her to him.

"You're going to be cold," she said.

And as she stood there on the dark beach, damp curls blowing about her face, barefoot and shivering he couldn't take his eyes off her. And maybe it was because he felt like he was nineteen again, or maybe because they weren't in Vegas, but for once in his life he didn't think twice or tried to conceal his words behind someone else's. He just watched her like he'd never watched her before, his eyes boring into hers ardently, his breath catching in his throat.

"I don't think I can ever love you more than I do right now," he said, in a barely audible whisper and a shy smile on his lips. He leaned in closer to her ear. "And tonight I will show you no mercy. I will love you like you've never been loved before."

His hot breath on her skin caused more shivers and she swallowed. "Separate beds, remember?" she said with a small smile. "Separate rooms, even."

His lips were on hers as he murmured, "I can be real inventive when I want to."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm simply overwhelmed by the response to this story. Thank you. I hope you like this chapter as much; it was ready so here it is, a little earlier than I planned.

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His arm slung nonchalantly over her shoulder, hers draped around him, her hand resting on his hip, they set off home, and talked and laughed and kissed their way back. Every so often Grissom would stop and point out a place of local interest to her, an historical building, a street corner even, and tell her a story about it, an inconsequential anecdote that helped shed a little more light about his elusive childhood. Sara could only watch him with wonderment as he talked animatedly, drinking in his every word, the beatific grin never leaving her lips.

When they eventually got back to the house after many a stop and many a kiss, it was late, very late, and the house stood in total darkness but for the dim porch light Betty had left on for them.

"Did you remember to take a key?" Sara asked in his ear in a giggly whisper as he came to a wobbly stop at the bottom of the drive.

Her arms were slipping from around his neck, her legs from around his waist, and he gently lowered her down from his piggy back. Letting out a grunt of relief, he bent forward, resting his hands on his thighs, catching a well-earned breath. He shook his head in reply and brought laughing eyes up to meet hers. "Did you?"

"No," she laughed.

He straightened up, wincing over-dramatically as he arched, stretched and rubbed his sore back. "Remind me how much you weigh again?"

Giggling, Sara pulled a face at him. "You insisted. Besides it was only twenty yards! And what happened to 'I'm feeling as strong as when I was nineteen'!" she said, mimicking his voice.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "No. I said I _felt _like I was- and twenty yards my ass!" He paused, shaking his head and muttering a bad-tempered, almost inaudible, "Never mind," before lifting his gaze to the house. His face pursed in thought and he slowly ran his eyes over the front before intently scanning the surrounding area.

"Don't even think about it," Sara said, reading his mind. "My days of climbing my way back up to my room are long behind me."

He turned wide amused eyes at her. "That, I would very much like to see."

"I have no doubt," she laughed. Then she frowned in realisation. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"What? Scaled the outside of the house up to my room?" He gave her a brisk shake of the head. "Nope. Never. I've never had to before."

Mouth pursed to the side in a suspicious pout, she narrowed her eyes at him but then shook her head and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the front door. "Come on, let's ring the bell."

"There's no need," he said reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. "I've got my key."

Sara punched him lightly on the upper arm and he winked, slipping the key into the lock. Her hand on his arm held him back before he could turn the handle. "Thank you for the most perfect date," she whispered. "But I think maybe we should say 'Good night' here."

He paused, turning, and a smile twisting his mouth slowly pulled her to him by the lapels of his jacket. "You're right," he said softly, "we should."

He smiled wider and brought his hands up to her cheeks, eyes dark with consuming desire roaming all over her face. Her mouth opened in an inaudible gasp as she read his yearning and she closed her eyes, and tilting her face to the side with his hands he leaned toward her and caressed his lips over hers, ever so softly, ever so tenderly. He pulled back a little, his breathing raspy, and she reopened her eyes, a smile breaking across her face as she watched him study her.

"Good night, my love," he said in a murmur, his eyes kissing her face lovingly.

Eyes locked to hers, he stooped and slipped one arm below her knees, the other moving behind her back as he scooped her up to his chest. Sara gave a small yelp of surprise and when her giggle filled the air he gently muffled it with his lips. Her laughter became a low, needy moan and still holding the bundle of wet clothes in her hand she laced her arms around his neck, her mouth parting welcomingly, her tongue seeking his as she returned his kiss with passion.

Without breaking contact, he fumbled behind her back with the door handle, pulling the key out as they stumbled into the house. He readjusted Sara in his arms, deepening the kiss with a moan while gently kicking the door shut behind them.

"Gil, your mother," Sara groaned into his mouth.

"What about my mother?" he groaned back, his mouth attacking her neck.

She pulled back from him. "What if she's still up?"

"She's not. She's in bed. Besides, she won't hear us." His lips resumed their onslaught on her mouth, hungrily trailing kisses to her throat and neck, licking, nibbling the tender skin below her ear, and Sara leaned her head back with a long moan of pleasure, granting him better access. He licked his way to her ear, gasping, "Your bed or mine?"

The lights suddenly came on in the room. Immediately they froze and after a beat sprung apart from each other. Suppressing his laughter Grissom let Sara down onto the floor before straightening his shirt, turning just in time to see his mother half-way down the stairs. He lowered his hands, clasping them tightly in front of himself self-consciously and shot a flushed Sara a glance, smiling as he caught her hurriedly wiping her mouth on his jacket sleeve and running a frantic hand through her tousled hair.

From what Grissom guessed, Betty couldn't have seen or heard them. She was in her bed clothes, her robe fastened tight around her waist and she jumped out of her skin on seeing them. One hand over her heart, the other on the banister, she paused on the bottom step to catch her breath, the glare she threw her son one of warning not to do that again.

Her eyes slowly glided from one to the other as she took in their still damp, sandy and dishevelled appearance, and she smiled uneasily. "I wasn't sure you'd taken your key with you or not," she signed quickly, looking at her son.

Sara's lips were pinched tightly together, and she kept her hands behind her back, badly concealing their bundle of clothes, her gaze intent on the floor in embarrassment. The same awkwardness that had settled upon the trio after supper suddenly filled the room again.

"You didn't have to wait up for us," he spoke, not quite meeting his mother's eyes before remembering to sign the words.

Betty stepped down the bottom step. "I wasn't. Well, I-" she paused, her hands poised in mid-air in hesitation and she shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure you were still fine with visiting your dad's grave tomorrow."

He shot Sara a look before nodding his head at his mother.

"I'll go get ready for bed," Sara told him quietly, stepping aside. He nodded and she smiled, rubbing her hand up and down his arm in a comforting gesture before moving toward the stairs. "Good night, Mrs Grissom," she said, raising her free hand to the side and waving it, signing 'Good bye' rather than 'Good night' but it was clear from the sudden change in Betty's expression that she appreciated the effort.

"Betty," the older woman replied, signing each letter slowly so Sara would remember them. "Call me, Betty, please."

Sara shared a look with Grissom and then smiled a wide smile, nodding her understanding. "Good night, Betty," she signed.

"Good night, Sara," Betty said and watched as Sara headed upstairs. Then she turned toward Grissom and took a few hesitant steps forward, reaching out a hand to him but dropping it without making contact. "Why don't you put yours and Sara's wet clothes in the laundry room and I can get them washed and dried for you tomorrow?"

He simply nodded his head in reply, moving to the stairs. "Good night, mom," he said.

"Gil?"

He paused with his hand on the banister, and turned.

Her smile was sad and remorseful. "Good night, son."

He flashed her a brief smile before disappearing up the stairs without another look. He could hear the shower running and he stopped outside the bathroom, letting out a long despondent sigh at the turn the evening had taken. Resisting the temptation to crash in on Sara's shower whilst his mother was still up, he headed straight to his room and sat down on the edge of his bed, his head falling forward glumly between his legs.

He heard his mother walk past his door back to her room and feeling foolish for unnecessarily hanging around for his turn in the shower made his way to the bathroom. Wash bag in hand he leaned his body in against the door and knocked briefly before trying the handle. "Sara, it's me. Open up."

The lock clicked and he went in, quietly shutting the door after him. Her hair up in a ponytail and bent forward over the sink Sara was applying cleanser to her face. He sighed and watched her fondly for a moment before looking down, frowning at what she was wearing. She must have sensed his eyes on her because at that same moment she cracked one eye open and looked round over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at him questioningly.

He shook himself out of his trance and cocked a brow in bafflement. "What are…these?" he asked, waving a hand toward her attire.

Biting her lip Sara stepped back from the sink and looked down at herself. She cleared her throat, shrugging as though her answer was evident. "They're my new flannel pyjamas," she replied. "You don't like them?"

His mouth opened, his shoulder rising in indecision. "They kind of are like the coveralls you wear at work, Sara, only they button up higher to your neck."

Stifling her smile Sara turned back to the wash basin and quickly rinsed her face before reaching for a towel and drying herself. Casually leaning back against the basin she explained with a slight shrug, "I just thought, you know, that…since I might bump into your mother in the night-"

Sara didn't have time to finish her explanation for Grissom snagged her by the bottom corner of her pyjama top, dragging her up to him. Then he lifted his free hand, slowly tracing along the neckline with his fingertips before popping the two top buttons open.

"Better," he whispered, smiling and kissing the spot on her collarbone he'd just exposed. Without another word or gesture but with a knowing twist of his mouth he moved past her and set his wash bag down on the edge of the basin, commandeering the space. He picked up both toothbrushes, squirting a dollop of toothpaste on each one. Catching her incredulous gaze in the mirror and his movement deliberately slow he held her toothbrush out to her, and began a vigorous brushing of his teeth.

Eyes narrowed at his mild teasing Sara gently elbowed him to the side, joining him at the sink to clean her teeth. Once he'd finished with his thorough brushing he let out a wide yawn and silently began unbuttoning his shirt, reaching over to turn the shower on. Sara's brushing slowed down to an almost complete stop and she sat down on the closed toilet seat, watching him musingly as he pulled the shirt off.

"What has gotten into to you?" she asked with puzzlement.

"You're the first girl I bring home," he said with an easy chuckle, hopping as he pulled off his jeans. "I'm setting a precedent."

"Is that what you're doing?" she stated quietly.

Noticing her weary tone, he paused. "Come on, Sara," he said softly, "out with it. What's bothering you?"

Heaving a long sigh, she lifted a small shoulder and removed the toothbrush from her mouth. Looking at him ruefully she opened her mouth to talk but instead leaned up over the sink and spat out some toothpaste.

"Are you worried about meeting Julia?" he asked, watching her.

She put her toothbrush down. "Should I be?"

He laughed. "No."

"Then I'm not." To his increasingly furrowing brow she shrugged again and looked down to her lap. "Do you think I should go tomorrow?" she said eventually, meeting his concerned gaze.

He gave himself a shake of the head. "Go where?"

"With you and your mother. To the cemetery."

Grissom took a moment to think about his answer. "I don't think she'd have asked you to come if she didn't want you to."

"She didn't ask me per se," Sara pointed out.

"No, she didn't."

"I think she was just being polite, Gil. I think-"

He covered the two steps to her and crouching down in front of her took her hands in his. "And I think it's her way of introducing my father to you, of making you part of the family."

Sara registered a look of surprise at his words. "You think so?"

Smiling, he nodded softly. "I think – no, I know that my mother isn't one for great displays of affection, Sara. She's more the quiet, more restrained type, not less loving nonetheless, just more-"

"Reserved," Sara stated quietly, "Like you."

His smile widened, and he brought her hand up to his face and kissed its palm. "Like me."

Sara gave him a soft nod of the head and he rose to his feet, outstretching his left leg to relieve the soreness in his knee. Sara smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him back to her and resting the side of her face against his bare stomach. His hands instinctively found the back of her head and he stroked her hair while they held each other silently for a moment until he pulled away, dipping his head.

"You okay?" he asked, seeking her gaze. "Is this too much?"

"No," she replied with a wan smile. She reached up to stroke his chest. "I'm just tired."

"Can't tempt you in with me then?" he asked with a nod to the shower.

She shook her head and smiled wider. "I'm all showered out." She got up from the toilet seat and turned away to pack away her stuff.

He watched her for a moment with a mixture of sadness and worry, and overwhelming love and longing too, and then said with a sigh, "Leave your clothes here with mine, I'll put them in the washer."

She brought her eyes to his face, nodding, and he smiled at her trying to communicate in that one smile all his love and confidence that she was doing great before wishing her "Good night" and stepping into the shower.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter got away from me. I just loved writing it and because I couldn't post it, kept adding to it. I hope it was worth the wait and that you like it. Let me know; I love hearing from you all.

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It was with a troubled mind that Grissom pulled the covers off his bed and slipped between the cold sheets. Lying on his back with his head in the crook of his elbow and his gaze intent on the ceiling he let out a long breath; this visit wasn't shaping up all that well at all.

His eyes suddenly lit up, a naughty grin breaking as he recalled a shivering Sara overcoming her reticence to join him in the water for the simple fact that she wanted to make him happy. And she had. She did, every day he was with her. His heart swelled with love at the thought. He hadn't felt this happy, young and carefree in a long time – a very long time – and he would not allow his mother to put a dampener on his feelings.

But Sara had gone to bed sad, her insecurities surfacing again, and he didn't know how he could dispel them, reassure and make her happy again. He turned onto his side, plumping his pillow with his fist, and made the resolution that the very next day he would speak to his mother and lay out plainly how he felt about Sara, how much he loved her, how important she was to him and how happy she made him. How happy they made each other. Suddenly it was important to him that his mother knew that.

He pushed the covers aside, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and squinting at the clock on the bedside table. It wouldn't hurt to make sure Sara had everything she needed for the night, would it? There was no harm in doing that, and were his mother to ask he'd tell her he was merely doing as told – being a good host.

The thin ray of light under her door told him she was still awake, hardly surprising considering the hours they usually kept. He knocked lightly on the door, not waiting for her reply to go in, and closed the door behind him without making a sound. He noticed Sara's lips twitch with a roguish I-knew-you-wouldn't-be-able-to-keep-away smile as he entered, but she kept silent and her eyes firmly on her book.

"Reading anything interesting?" he asked, hovering hesitantly by the door.

She raised the book, showing him the cover. "ASL for beginners," she said looking up and meeting his eyes. She gave his appearance the once-over, visibly appreciating the view. "You ready for bed?" she asked.

He looked down at his bare chest and pyjama bottoms, and quirked a brow at her. "It would appear so."

A mischievous grin spread across her face. "No one likes a smart ass."

Laughter boomed out of him. "I thought you liked my ass!" he exclaimed with disbelief.

Her grin broadened but she lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug and pretended to return her attention to her book.

He pursed his face at her before casting a furtive look over his shoulder, checking his backside. "Anyway," he said with a shake of the head, "I was in the vicinity and…I came by to check everything was all right, you know, see if you needed anything, a glass of water or…" he took a few steps in and perched a buttock on the edge of the bed, letting his words trail uncertainly.

Her smile widened knowingly as she looked up and put the book down on her lap. "A kiss and a cuddle maybe?" she asked coyly, her eyes softening with affection.

He stared back, the love showing in her gaze reflected ten folds. "If that's what you heart so desires," he said, playing it cool, "then who am I to question it?"

Laughing at his words she waved him over. He shrugged ruefully, and shifting on the bed opened out his arms to her and they met somewhere in the middle, falling into an easy embrace. Just having her near felt good and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to squeeze, feel and smell her as he pressed his face into her hair while Sara returned the hug with as much need and warmth.

Reluctantly they pulled back from each other and Sara shuffled to one side of the bed, patting the other side in silent invitation. To his, "I thought you'd never ask," she laughed, and he moved the book out of the way before slipping under the covers.

There was a comfortable moment when they just sat and looked at each other, smiling, knowing conspirators in what they were doing until Sara lifted her hand and lightly stroked him just below the eye. "Eyelash," she simply said, breaking the spell.

Resisting the urge to pounce and ravish her there and then, he simply smiled back at her. Turning the book over in his hands he looked down, and his warm chuckle filled the room. "You want me to give you a _hand _with that?" he asked teasingly.

Sara snatched the book from him. "Don't mock, please," she said, her expression darkening. "I can remember every single sign, letter and phrase you've shown me but…put them all together and…by the time I've recognised one let alone interpreted it," she blew out a long sigh, "I've missed the next two or three signs and-"

His heart clenched at her forlorn tone. "You've got to give it time, Sara. It'll come." He put his hand on top of hers and squeezed. "It's like…being parachuted into a foreign country and having to learn the language all at once. It takes time and practice but it'll get easier."

She watched him for a long time and then nodded, a loving smile forming on her lips. "Teach me."

He stared at her with surprise and smiling, gave her a soft nod of the head. "Okay." He took the book back from her and flicked on a few pages. "What are you at?"

"Feelings and emotion," she said looking over his shoulder at the book.

"Feelings, huh?" he said, squinting at the blurry black and white diagrams on the page. "I thought you were doing this on-line."

"I was–am. This is…back-up."

He smiled indulgently and lifting his hand to her face expressed his gratitude with a gentle buss on her cheek. "I appreciate what you're doing, Sara. And my mother does too." He snapped the book shut and tossed it on the floor. "We don't need that. I know everything you need to know. Okay. Let me see," he said, scratching his ear in thought. "I think it's best we go right back to basics."

Sara put on her 'keen student' face. "Whatever you think's best. I trust you."

His eyes focusing on a distant point on the wall he wriggled the fingers of both hands in the air as though preparing to type.

Sara's face fell. "You see? I'm stumped already. What's that sign supposed to mean?" she lamented.

He frowned. "What sign?"

"That one," she said, wriggling her fingers in a carbon copy gesture of the one he'd just done.

He looked at her with puzzlement. "I haven't the faintest," he said, a knowing smile escaping. "I was just warming up my fingers!"

Screwing her face at him she pinched his forearm.

"Ouch! What was that for?" he exclaimed.

"That was for mocking me."

"I wasn't mocking you, Sara," he laughed. "It was just a poor attempt at making you smile." He sobered up quickly at the dark look she threw him. "And I see I'm going to have to try harder. Okay. Seriously now." He shifted on the bed until he sat face-to-face with her. Then, both hands palm in and fingers closed, he touched his chest and made a forward circular motion, accompanying his sign with the corresponding facial expression.

She watched him intently throughout, the frown one of concentration. Suddenly her face softened with a smile of recognition. "Happy," she said, repeating the sign.

"Good. Next one." He pointed toward her, then spread the fingers of both hands, placing them in front of his face, palms in, and slowly moved them in a downward position indicating flow of tears.

She repeated the sign with her fingers, and said, "Sad."

He shook his head while pointing a sharp finger toward her again before slowly repeating the sign. Sara smiled in understanding but before she could comment at what he was doing, he pointed toward her again and quickly made a 'd' hand with his right hand, touching his forehead and then moving his hand outward as if saluting.

Her smile broadened. "Smart. You think I'm smart."

He nodded before simultaneously pointing his right middle finger to his head, and his left one to his chest.

"Sick," she laughed. "Come on, that's too easy. I'm ready, hit me with it."

"You're too impatient, that's your problem," he said, tapping her nose with his finger. "One step at a time and you shall learn, young padawan." He paused briefly. "Okay, I know we've practised this one to death but humour me anyway. I really, really need to say it right now."

He closed his right fist while keeping his little finger up in the air making an 'i' hand, and brought it to his chest, then crossed his left hand over his right one at the wrists before pointing toward her.

Smiling, she held the thumb, index and pinkie finger of her right hand up, making the sign for the letters, I, L, Y in a short-cut reply and leaned over to brush her lips to his. "It's working," she told him in a whisper, grinning with happiness. "Keep going."

He winked at her, and brought a closed fist to his lips, rotating it counter-clockwise around his face before extending the five fingers, palm in toward his nose.

She pursed her face in thought, eventually shaking her head at him, admitting defeat.

He leaned in close, whispering in her ear, "Beautiful," and kissing the tender skin below.

She took a sharp intake of breath, closing her eyes. His body stirred, awakening with desire as he trailed soft lips down the side of her face, catching the corner of her mouth in a tentative kiss. His hands lifted to her face, cupping it as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss passionately, desperately. Sara responded, relaxing in his hands, her mouth parting, welcoming, warm and moist, and he shifted down on the bed, laying her down with him into a more comfortable position.

Out of the blue, she pushed him back quite forcefully. "We can't," she said in a ragged breath, "Your mother."

He put his hand back to steady himself, but forgetting he was right at the edge of the bed missed and slid off onto the floor, grabbing the bed covers just in time to break his fall. Sara burst out laughing before firmly clamping her hand over her mouth, eyes widening as she warily glanced toward next door while Grissom gingerly picked himself up off the floor.

"Come on," he laughed, eying the bed distrustfully, "this is no good. Let's go to my room."

Sara shook her head briskly. "There's no way I'm stepping foot into your bed under your mother's roof. Not until she gives us the go-ahead."

He rolled his eyes with a sigh."Well, I'm not sleeping on my own," he said petulantly, "And there's only one way we're both going to fit on this thing." Their eyes met and they both smiled.

"Spoons?" she asked.

"Spoons," he acquiesced with a grudging pout. "Turn the other way," he instructed as Sara began to shuffle back to the edge of the bed.

She pulled a face but complied with a huff. "You're always behind," she said in a moan looking over her shoulder at him. "I'd like to be behind just once."

"You know that way doesn't work."

"It doesn't work for you, you mean."

Acknowledging her words with a shrug he straightened up the covers and pulled off his pyjama bottoms.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"How do you mean?"

Her frown deepened, and she jerked her head toward his naked self.

"I always sleep in the nude," he said with puzzlement.

"What about your mother?"

"As far as I know she can't see through walls, Sara. Quit worrying." He nodded toward her pyjamas. "How about we divest you of this…thing instead?"

Smiling sweetly "No, thank you," she pulled the covers over her and reached over to turn the bedside light off.

"No. Leave the light on for a little while," he said and slipped under the covers. Settling himself directly behind her he nuzzled his face to her neck, and draped his arm over her waist, his lips brushing softly over the back of her shoulder. His hand crept under her pyjama top up to the slight curve of her stomach, coming to rest just below her breasts, and he closed his eyes, enjoying her closeness.

Sara shifted slightly but didn't say anything, and he smiled, her silence only serving to encourage him further. His fingers began tracing light, imaginary patterns on her skin, and he moved her hair out of the way with his free hand, exposing her nape.

"I know what you're doing," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "And it's not going to work."

He smiled wider, relishing the unspoken challenge and gently stroked his lips to the spot on her neck he had just exposed. She was putty to his hands and she knew it. It was only a matter of a little time. And time he had plenty of. A whole night's worth, in fact. He pushed the neck of her top down a little, trailing kisses from one shoulder blade to the other while the fingers of his other hand glided over her stomach and under the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.

"I've decided I quite like these new pyjamas after all," he murmured into her ear, "they leave everything to the imagination."

Sara let out a low moan of appreciation as his hand brushed tantalisingly close to her sex, and he felt her legs part, involuntarily seeking his caresses. Smiling, she turned her face to her shoulder, nuzzling it against his cheek. Gentle fingers pulled back her folds, teasing their way in.

"Maybe this…bed isn't so bad after all," she said in a gasp.

His lips found hers, his fingers continuing with their gentle exploration of her moist core, and as their tongues collided, her left hand flew to the back of his head, pulling him to her with urgency, her hips thrusting upward, seeking, demanding his touch. She gave a muffled groan and tried to turn fully onto her back. "Shift up," she commanded into his mouth, "I need to move."

He hummed, "No. I'm good like this."

"Well, I'm not." She nudged him lightly in the stomach and he grudgingly pulled back, allowing her to turn onto her back. Immediately he settled himself back against her, his lips resuming their onslaught on her mouth. She twisted her face away. "And you're sure she won't be able to hear us?"

He smiled, shaking his head and propping himself up on his elbow. Yearning burning in his eyes, he gently began undoing the buttons of her top, one by one, before slowly opening the sides, revealing heaving breasts. He ran his eyes over her chest, then his hands, gently, tentatively and he looked up to see the growing pleasure in her face as they traced up and down her sternum and around her breasts, edging closer and closer to her nipples but never quite making contact.

Without warning, Sara's eyes snapped open and she caught his hand by the wrist. "I want to, I really want to but it's just-"

"Sara," he said, pulling his hand away and looking at her straight in the eye, "I mixed fertiliser with a little sulphuric acid when I was ten and she didn't hear a thing."

"You made a bomb?"

He shook his head, looking rather smug. "No. I _exploded_ a bomb, a very small one, in my bedroom, and she'd have been none the wiser if in the process I hadn't set fire to my desk. It's still singed to this very day. You can go check for yourself if you want."

Unable to contain her mirth, Sara burst out laughing.

"But if you're still worried," he continued with a wicked twist of his mouth, "I promise to be real quiet and very gentle with you."

Sara's lips twitched, and she swallowed. "You promise?"

His hand crept back to her breast, his lips to her throat. "I promise."

Sara's head fell back with a moan of anticipation as he kissed and licked his way down her neck and shoulder to her chest, her breast, her nipples. One hand dipped under the waistband of her pyjama bottom, pulling it down with it, and he shifted down on the bed, straddling her. Her hands were on his ass, stroking and kneading, her hips grinding upward against his erection.

The bed creaked and she froze. "What was that?" she asked in a hushed whisper as he suckled at her breast. "Did you hear that?" she hissed louder, pushing at his shoulders.

His hand halted its progress south and he looked up from her chest, meeting her narrowed gaze with a blank face.

"I heard something," she said hoarsely, "like a door shutting."

He took in a deep breath. "I didn't hear anything, Sara."

They listened intently for a moment, and then he shook his head before resuming his careful and exquisite investigation of her left nipple and surrounding area. Sara sighed, her hands moving to his hips, and she firmly pushed him off her. "This isn't working for me."

He pulled back and stared at her, looking a mixture of wonderment and incredulity. "It's not?"

"No."

"What if we turn off the light?"

She frowned at him and shifted, wriggling a leg out from under him. "I know you said she can't hear us but-"

Growing more and more frustrated with the turn of events, he rolled off her onto his side and propped his head on his hand, looking at her. "She can't," he insisted categorically.

There was a muffled creaking sound as though someone was walking on their tiptoes, followed by another, and propping herself on her elbow Sara turned on her side facing him and lifted a brow in a I-knew-I-wasn't-imagining-things manner.

He conceded the point with a sigh. "That was the third step down," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "It's creaked for as long as I can remember. Unless there's an intruder, she's definitely up and going downstairs."

"She can't sleep," Sara stated plainly. "You've upset her and now she can't sleep. She's probably as worried about tomorrow as you are."

"I'm not worried," he defended weakly.

"You didn't fool me. Besides, I feel bad for what's happened."

Grissom let out a long, fed-up breath. "It's not your fault. She shouldn't have invited Julia without asking me first, that's all," he said in a sulking tone.

"Go clear the air please; I'd feel better afterwards."

His face was a picture of incredulity. "What, now?"

Sara nodded sweetly. "Then with a little luck she'll be able to go to sleep and," she smiled wickedly, and brushed her hand against his waning erection, "we'd be able to resume where we left off."

"We would?" he asked hopefully. He scrambled out of bed, headed straight for the door, but then rushed back to her. "Keep the bed warm," he said, leaning down for a kiss. "I'll be right back."

Her answering smile was full of love and promise. "I'm not going anywhere."

He quickly walked backwards toward the door, lifting his index finger in the air. "I'll be back in just a tick."

"Gil," she grinned as he opened the door, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

But in his haste to return he was already gone, only to pop his head back in a second later, a sheepish look on his face. "I'm going to need my-" he waved his hand to the floor.

Laughing, she reached over the edge of the bed and tossed his pyjama bottoms at him. "Don't be long," she said, faking a wide yawn, "I won't wait up."


	7. Chapter 7

He found his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table broody and sullen and nursing a glass of milk. It was a scene he recognised only too well but one he hadn't seen since his childhood. Lost in her own thoughts she didn't see him approach, and she looked up with a start as he entered, registering a look of surprise at his appearance, her gaze lingering a tad too long over his bare chest.

Her stare made him uneasy and he wished he wasn't at such a disadvantage and that he'd stopped by his room to grab a sweatshirt. Still, he didn't avert his eyes as he might have done on previous occasions. His lips pursing in an awkward smile he squared up his shoulders; it was time his mother saw him for more than the quiet, compliant, introspective and mild-mannered son that he'd always been.

She flashed him a tight-lipped smile. "You couldn't sleep either?" quick fingers asked.

He took a few hesitant steps in and shook his head in reply before leaning back against the kitchen counter across from her. "I'm usually awake at this time of night," he signed back.

She nodded her understanding, her eyes flicking toward the doorway as she asked a little cautiously, "Sara's okay? Only I couldn't help noticing the light was on in her room." She waited for him to comment, adding when he didn't, "Maybe you could go check on her? Make sure she's got everything she needs for the night?"

Her concern for Sara's wellbeing seemed genuine enough but Grissom knew that his mother was nothing if not the perfect host. His returning smile was on the strained side. "Sara's fine," he signed quickly. "Don't worry."

Betty gave a small nod and a sigh at his curt manner, and brought the glass of milk to her lips as an awkward silence settled between them. Wishing he'd waited until the morning to talk to his mother, Grissom shifted uncomfortably and looked down to his bare feet. He wasn't in the right frame of mind for a confrontation and sadly he felt one coming, for this time he wasn't going to give in or walk away in return for an easy life.

Before he could broach the subject at hand, Betty made eye contact with him. "Do you want a glass of milk?" she asked with her hands, motioning toward her drink.

His face told her he'd prefer something a little stiffer but without waiting for a reply she got up from her chair, got a tumbler out of the cupboard and poured him a glass. His smirk and wince as he took the glass spoke volume.

"It's good for you, Gil," she signed. "You should start thinking of osteoporosis, at your age."

Ah, there we go, he thought, it didn't take her long to bring that up. Unwilling to get riled up so early on in the proceedings he merely rolled his eyes at her in response, and she smiled at him sweetly, resuming her seat at the table. He brought the glass to his lips and took a small sip, biding his time, happy to let her show her hand.

"Did Sara like the lighthouse?" she asked suddenly.

It wasn't so much showing her hand as throwing him a curveball. "The lighthouse?" he repeated with a frown.

"Fisherman's Village? Did you take her to the top? It's a nice night; the view must have been-"

Grissom's signed "No," came out a little curter than he would have liked. He paused with a sigh. "I did not take Sara to Fisherman's Village."

Registering a look of surprise Betty's mouth formed a perfect "Oh," and her gaze averted to her glass.

Grissom immediately regretted his brusqueness but wasn't willing to back down just yet. He sighed, pulling a chair across from her and sitting down, and watched her intently while she studied her glass as though it held the answers to their differences. He looked up toward the ceiling, thinking of Sara waiting upstairs, Sara that had sent him down so he and his mother could begin to patch up their differences, and anxiously clenched and unclenched his fists a few times.

Mind made up, he reached across the table and tapped his mother lightly on the arm to get her attention. Her head shot up and she met his narrowed gaze with a sad one of her own. He chose his words carefully. "What you did isn't fair on Sara," he began tentatively.

She stared at him for a moment with a look he could only describe as a mixture of uncertainty and puzzlement. He was about to elaborate when she gave him a solemn nod of the head in understanding and he paused.

"You're angry," she stated calmly.

"Yes," he signed briskly. "I'm angry, and disappointed."

Betty's brow rose with surprise. "Disappointed?" she repeated, her face taking on a fearful expression.

He nodded, then pinched his lips in thought and wiped the corners of his mouth. "Tomorrow's going to be awkward enough for all of us without-" his hands stalled, poised mid-air for a moment before he lowered them and let out a short breath.

How could he tell his mother that some things were better left in the past? How could he tell her that Sara was his future? That with her he had learnt to love and trust again? He closed his eyes and ran a weary hand over them before reopening them slowly. His mother was watching him intently, a dark, saddened look on her face.

"I'm sorry, Gil," she signed quickly before he could say more, reaching a tentative hand toward her son's. He drew his hand back. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't make _me_ feel uncomfortable," he signed heatedly, struggling to keep his frustrations at bay. "_Sara_'s the one who will feel uncomfortable." He pointed toward himself and signed a sharp, "disappointed."

Betty swallowed and nodded. "I understand; I'll-"

He was on a roll now, the words flowing from him, unbidden. "No, you don't understand," he cut in sharply. He felt sweat bead on his upper lip. "I _love_ Sara. I love her very much and I don't want her to be upset. Not tomorrow, and not by you and Julia. She is my guest here and-"

"You loved Julia once too," Betty signed gravely, stopping him in mid-flow.

Her comment took his breath and he faltered. He gave himself a shake of the head in amazement, and sitting very still lowered his hands to the table. His gaze flicked to them and for the first time he noticed how shaky they were. He clenched them into tight fists and looked up to his mother, staring at him, waiting for his reply.

The silence in the kitchen, the noiselessness and muteness of their fight suddenly felt very oppressive, like a weight slowly bearing down on him, stifling and suffocating. He was finding it hard to breathe and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself and calm his racing heart. His upbringing was such that he had a tremendous amount of respect for his mother but he would not let her drive a wedge between him and Sara.

At last he opened his eyes, meeting his mother's gaze dead on. "Not like I love Sara," he said out loud, quietly, confidently, accompanying his spoken words with the corresponding signs. How could he put it to his mother in a way she'd understand? "Sara's my future," he added. "She-"

"But she's so young," Betty cut in, looking pained and sad. Her lips were pinched in a thin, downward line and she looked as though she felt sorry for him, as though she wished he could see the truth of her words for what it was. "I thought she'd be closer to your age, a divorcee maybe, someone with the same outlook on life. How can she be your future, Gil? How can she-" The dark look he threw her silenced her immediately.

Her words were like a stab in the back, cutting deep and raw. He thought about walking away and had the argument not been about Sara he most certainly would have done. "Can you not see the changes in me?" he asked beseechingly. His mother could only watch him, silently, helplessly. "Why can't you just be happy for me?" he continued with rapid, angry hand movements, rising to his feet so suddenly that his chair almost fell back. "Why can't you see that Sara makes me happy? She makes me feel young and carefree and…"

Breathless, he paused and turned away, hiding his distress, his pain and feelings of betrayal, amazed at the candour and vehemence of his words. He had never dared to speak to his mother the way he was doing now and struggling to contain his anger he ran a shaky hand over his face. He took a deep, calming breath and then met his mother in the eye. His face was dark, closed-off and uncompromising. "Sara is _everything _to me," he said, thinking it strange how signing such words rather than saying them aloud came to him more easily, less censored. "She doesn't judge me, she accepts me for what I am – loves me for who I am. She's the one for me, mom, and nothing you and Julia can do will change that."

Overcoming her evident shock at such uncharacteristically passionate and forceful display from her son, Betty calmly nodded at his words and took a moment to think about her answer. "What about children and marriage?" she signed quietly. "You've always maintained you didn't want any of that. Surely she wants that, doesn't she?" Her question came out of left field and he swallowed. "Does she know about your…_our_ condition? That it's hereditary?"

Grissom wasn't seeing care and concern in his mother's words, but rather hurtful reproach and judgement. "That's none of your business," he retorted quickly, and began pacing the room.

Betty's brow rose but she didn't pry further. "Of course it's my business. I care about you. You're my son."

He stopped pacing, turning sharply toward his mother. "I'm fifty years old!"

She sighed, opening her hands out in acknowledgement of his point. "Have you told Sara about Julia?" she then asked him out of the blue. "Is that why you're so upset?"

He slumped down onto his chair and covered his face with his hands. He was shaking. Looking up he shook his head, adding to his mother's insistent stare, "Not everything, no." He sighed, remembering that his mother had never been told the whole truth about what had happened either, and looked away. "I couldn't." Betty gave a solemn nod of the head in understanding. "And somehow," he continued with slow, resigned hands, "I don't think Julia will brag about it either."

Betty let out a drawn-out sigh and got to her feet. She walked round to his side of the table and gently put her hand on his shoulder. He didn't pull away. "I'm sorry, Gil," she said, shrugging sadly. "I'll call Julia first thing tomorrow and cancel, and I'll apologise to Sara. Don't misunderstand me, I like her," she said dipping her head and catching his eye. "I like her a lot. She seems a very nice and smart young woman and I'm sure you're right; she makes you happy." She pursed her lips into a tight smile. "I didn't mean to make you, or Sara, uncomfortable. I was just―you took me by surprise, that's all. She's not what―who I was expecting."

He gave her a small nod, closing his eyes with a sigh, and she lifted her hand to his cheek, brushing the back of her hand to it softly. She waited until he reopened his eyes to sign, "Inviting Julia had nothing to do with your relationship with Sara. You've got to believe that. She called to say she was in town and that she wanted to speak to me and you were already on your way, and I didn't stop to think. So much time has passed, Gil, I thought you two had mended your fences."

He shrugged; the anger had all but left him now, replaced by overwhelming sadness and a sense of betrayal. "Some scars take longer to fade."

Betty nodded with a sad smile. "I know, and I truly am sorry."

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, acknowledging her apology with a nod.

"I was so excited meeting Sara at long last and when Julia told me that-" she stopped signing abruptly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

His ears pricked, his eyes narrowing with interest as he waited for her to continue. She looked up, and stared at him cautiously, almost fearfully. "What is it, mom?" he asked with a flash of hands.

He heard a short muffled scraping sound coming from upstairs, then another longer one, as though someone was moving furniture around. He bit his bottom lip, his brow furrowing deeper with bewilderment. Suddenly a loud thump resonated down through the ceiling, causing Grissom to flinch slightly. His mother seemed none the wiser. A rogue, sad smiled escaped. Could Sara be doing what he thought she was doing? Resisting the temptation to look up and alert his mother to Sara's doings, he focused his attention back onto his mother, asking instead, "What is it you need Julia here to tell me?"

Another muffled sound and he was finding it harder and harder to keep a straight face but he soldiered on, keeping one eye on his mother's hands, the other darting to the ceiling at regular interval as he wondered what Sara was up to.

Noticing Grissom's growing distraction Betty signed, "It can wait until tomorrow. Why don't you go and check on Sara?"

He nodded his head, wondering whether his mother had picked up on what was happening upstairs. Then he looked up and noticing the still swinging light fitting suppressed a wider smile. "Don't call Julia," he signed, walking backwards toward the door, suddenly in a hurry to get back to Sara. "I think it's time I faced my demons."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: The latter part of this chapter is rated M, but not the rest of the story, so please read responsibly.

* * *

When he got to the top of the stairs he saw no ray of light under Sara's door, and he stopped uncertainly. Could he have misinterpreted the noises he heard and Sara's intentions? Fed up with waiting for him could she have gone to sleep? Still, he couldn't bear to be on his own right now; he needed her. He needed her warmth and comfort, her selfless love and fortitude, now more than ever.

He didn't knock, he simply opened the door a crack, calling quietly through the gap, "Sara? Sara, love, you're still up?"

He heard a rustle of bedcovers as she moved. His lips slowly curled into a tender, loving smile and he pushed the door open a little wider, hitting the side of the bed as he slipped inside the room.

"Down here," came a quiet breathy voice, halting his movement.

He frowned, quietly closing the door after him and waiting until his eyes had adjusted to the dim light to look around. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't turn on the light," she said in a whisper as his hand felt for the light switch on the wall.

He didn't. His lips pursed to the side at her playful games, his eyes narrowing to slits as he scanned the room intent on locating the origin of her voice.

"Come," she murmured teasingly, stifling her giggle, "Come to me."

He smiled despite himself and walked round the foot of the bed, stopping in front of a beaming Sara seductively lying in wait atop the mattress she'd lowered to the floor against the wall by the window. The curtains were pulled back fully, allowing for the softest of light to bathe her and the room.

He caught a hint of flesh shimmering in the moonlight, and the soft smile remained on his lips as his eyes travelled up her bare legs, skimming over her stomach to her chest, shoulders and throat, her face, eventually coming to a lingering stop over her bright, laughing eyes. The moon was reflected in them and he could only stare at her lovingly, transfixed by her beauty.

Sara swallowed, her gaze flicking down to his feet, and then back up to his face. Her smile was shy, almost abashed. "You're feeling rebellious?" she asked in that husky voice that made his heart beat just that little bit faster.

His smile faded as regret clouded his eyes and he sighed.

Worry immediately filled Sara's features. She shuffled up into a sitting position, folding her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them self-consciously. "I just thought, you know," her words trailed off with a lift of the shoulders. Her smile wavered, suddenly losing its sparkle, and she reached her hand out to him in silent invitation.

He closed his eyes, taking in a breath at the sudden surge of love and wellbeing that filled his heart. Reopening them he took her proffered hand and kneeled down on the mattress by her side before bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. "It's perfect," he said, his lips lingering on her skin. He brought her hand to his face and leaned into it, whispering again, "Just perfect."

She watched him uncertainly for a moment, her eyes mirroring his sadness. The fingers of her other hand threaded through his short curls and she pulled him to her chest, gently, silently, not needing words to know that his talk with his mother hadn't gone as he'd hoped. The simple act, the easy intimacy of her gesture spoke more to him, meant more to him than a thousand words ever could. He closed his eyes and allowed the slow regular beat of her heart to begin to soothe him.

"I'm sorry about the noise earlier," she said after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence. "The mattress just dropped out of my hands. Your mother didn't notice, did she?"

"I don't think so," came his glum muffled response.

"Good," she sighed and he looked up. "I thought that we'd be more comfortable like this, you know?" She paused hesitantly and he let out a long breath, pulling away from her grasp. "You okay?" she asked tentatively as she released the tight hold she had on him and watched as he wearily pushed to his feet.

He didn't say anything. He simply pulled off his pyjama pants and slid down onto the mattress next to her, opening his arm out so she could snuggle against him. Scooting down the makeshift bed Sara settled herself in the crook of his shoulder, her face snug against his side, her lips on his skin as she draped her arm around his torso.

"It didn't go well with your mother?" she tried again, soft eyes looking up to him questioningly.

He gave a little snort and shrugged. "Let's just say that the nineteen-year-old me would never have rebelled."

Frowning at his words she looked down and gently raked her fingers through the grey hairs on his chest. "Then I prefer the fifty-year-old you any day of the week," she stated sincerely, without a hint of mockery in her voice.

His face unexpectedly lit up with a chuckle and he reached down to press a kiss to the top of her head. "Good," he said, "Because weary old me is who you're lumbered with." He gave a brisk shake of the head, as though he could rid himself of his dark thoughts that way. "What happened to your coveralls?" he asked out of the blue, mindlessly stroking up and down her arm with his fingertips.

Sara snapped her head up toward him and he could swear despite the dim light that her cheeks had coloured. Looking down bashfully she pulled at the hem of her silk négligée.

He ran a tired hand over his face and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sara. I'm ruining everything. I know what you were trying to do and you look…lovely but," he shrugged, "I don't think I'm in the mood for…"

"Hey, shhh" she soothed quietly. "I don't mind―It doesn't matter." She let out a soft chuckle. "They were kind of frumpy, weren't they?"

His heart tightened with a new rush of love. "I love you," he breathed softly, turning toward her and squeezing her to him.

She propped herself up on her elbow and studied him intently for a moment. She smiled. He reached up to kiss her tenderly on the lips, grateful at her lack of prying, grateful for her unconditional love and support, for her quiet comforting presence. He would tell her about his past, about Julia and Rose, but first he needed to overcome the pain and heartache speaking to his mother had rekindled and find the words.

"I'm okay," he said finally as he stared into her eyes. He smiled, "Just hold me for a while."

Sara nodded, and her gaze never leaving his slowly traced the outline of his eyes with a trembling hand. It felt as though her fingers were gradually effacing the dark shadows, the ghosts buried deep within and haunting him. Her eyes shone brightly in the dark light and she smiled softly, shyly, lovingly. Her hand stroked down his face to his chest and without a word she resettled herself snug against him.

His arm wrapped around her and he let out a long breath, simply content to hold her and have her close. They remained like this, completely still and silent, as one, for a long time. Instinctively, his breathing slowed until it matched her deep, regular rise and fall; his eyes remained fixed to the dancing shadows on the ceiling, his mind completely immersed in his own thoughts.

Out of the blue he turned his face toward her and pressed soft lips to her temple. "Sara," he said in a breath, his voice small, hesitant and scared, "there's something I need to tell you."

She shifted, and propping herself up on her elbow turned and covered his mouth with her hand. "Shhh," she said. "Don't say anything, please. Not now, not yet. Now, it's just you and me."

He felt sudden tears rise and prickle at the corners of his eyes. He closed his eyes hoping to hide his sorrow but felt two lonely tears course down the side of his face and gather at his ears. His eyes scrunched tighter but he didn't move; he just concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and measured, and the pain at bay.

The mattress dipped as Sara raised herself higher and suddenly she was almost on top of him. He could feel her breaths, warm and soothing, on his face as she gently kissed the corner of his left eye where more tears were pooling. Her lips moved gently on his skin, slowly kissing along the tear track to the side of his face, his neck, coming to a rest by his ear.

"Make love to me, Gil," she said in a gasp. "Make love to me like you've never made love to me before."

Searing desire flooded through him. His heartbeat quickened, his breath catching and hitching suddenly. He reopened his eyes only to stare directly at Sara's dark moonlit face. Her hair fell into her face and he brushed it back gently. Her eyes shone like he had never seen them shine, a mixture of love and devotion, desire and longing, and sadness too reflected back at him. She eased her leg over him, straddling him, and propped herself on her hands and knees.

"I'm yours," she gasped in an inaudible whisper, her eyes boring into his ardently, "Take me."

A shy smile to her lips she lowered his hand from her face and pressed it to her breast. His eyes drifted shut at the heady sensations, the release of endorphins her words and actions were causing.

"Keep your eyes open," she said softly, her face lowering to his, her hot, ragged breaths causing him to shiver. "I want to see the trees dance in them."

His eyes snapped open, wide and dark with desire. Her chest was heaving under his hand, her desire and love for him spilling out of her through to him unreservedly as it had never done before. He opened his mouth to talk but hers came crashing down onto his from nowhere, stifling his reply. White heat travelled down to his crotch and he moaned into her mouth, a low, primal moan of intense pleasure.

Their kiss deepened hungrily. His hands glided up her thighs to her hips, gathering up the silk nightie up with them. Breaking the kiss, Sara straightened up, her back arching toward him as she lifted her arms above her head. The nightgown dropped to the side, discarded.

His hands grasped hers, their fingers entwining above her head and he sat up with her sitting on top, his mouth finding her chest, her breasts, her nipples, kissing, sucking, licking, with passion. Gasping, she threw her head back with abandon. His erection stood twitching tantalisingly close to her ass and he felt her move above him in slow sensual circles, seeking, demanding more of his touch.

God, he needed to slow down. Breathless, he pulled back from her and took a moment to simply watch her, watch the pleasure in her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth parted and her face in shadow but her body seemed to float out of the blackness and take him on a journey with her. Panting, she opened her eyes and smiled and watched him watch her. His fascination for her had no bounds.

Taking the initiative he eased her off him and laid her down onto the mattress. How gently he pushed her hair back, how tentatively his lips skimmed over her face as he lowered himself on top of her.

"Take me," she said again in a whisper.

He moaned, his lips crushing hers, kissing passionately, furiously, all the built-up emotion pouring out of him into her. Her hands flew to his face, her legs parting as she wrapped them around him and she pulled him closer still, deepening the kiss and grinding her body to him. Her right hand moved to his shoulder, to his back, tracing down the curve of his spine to his side, over his front down to his groin.

The sliding of her thumb over the top of his penis was almost too much for him. He scrunched his eyes shut, pausing briefly from his ministrations in order to catch his breath and let the surge of overcoming desire wash over him. Swallowing, he opened his eyes enquiring with his gaze whether she was ready, and guided by her hand gently eased himself into her moist core.

Sara let out a loud gasp and he stopped. Their gazes locked. She smiled and spread her arms out to the side, her chest curving up toward him. His hands found hers, their fingers interlinking as he pinned her down to the mattress and he began to move over her, inside her, gently, reverently at first and then harder, faster, hungrier, desperation fuelling his ardour. His eyes never left hers and he watched the myriad of emotion reflected there, the look of pure ecstasy, the complete abandon and vulnerability as she relinquished to him complete control over her body, her feelings and her heart.

The swift onset of her lengthy and intense orgasm caught him by surprise, amazed as ever that their lovemaking could elicit such overwhelming and devastating response. He could feel her whole body shudder with the ripples of her orgasm, the sharp, repeated tightening of her muscles around him enough to send him over the edge and trigger his release.

Long afterwards, he opened his eyes and found her leaning over him, inches from his face. When she looked at him like that he felt he could see straight into her soul, into her heart and what he saw there filled him with unconditional love and trust, a sense of belonging he had never encountered before. She stroked his nose. Her fingers travelled across the bridge and over his brows, circling his eyes, and she smiled tenderly, saying, "The shadows have gone."

His face lit up with a smile and their lips met. Sara resettled herself against him and he closed his eyes once again, gathering her in, never wanting to let her go. He was almost asleep when he felt her hand lightly touch his face as she murmured quietly, "Whatever happened with Julia is in the past, and it can never change the way I feel about you."


	9. Chapter 9

It was morning. Sunlight streamed through the window onto their faces, dust floating in its rays in front of his half-lidded eyes. They were lying on the mattress, Sara curled on her side, her back to him, and him tucked in around her. Sara was fast asleep; he gently dozing in that strange state of near wakefulness that directly precedes full awareness. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest, at once soothing and comforting, and as he lay pressed around her, his arm draped over her possessively, his hand cupping the swell of her stomach he wanted this moment to never end.

The first knock at the door, a quiet, hesitant rasping, didn't make it through to his subconscious. Nor did the second. The third knock, a little louder, coming a few minutes later, followed by a cautious, "Gil?" did. The contented smile left his lips and he sighed. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder toward the door but made no attempt to answer his mother's call.

"Gil?" she said again, louder this time. Too loud.

Sara jolted in his arms and sat up abruptly, snapping a startled, wide-eyed face round toward the door. The bed sheet pooled down by her waist. Her hand came up and pushed a few tousled curls away from her face. Her cheeks were flushed from sleep and lovemaking, and he smiled wistfully. She looked more beautiful with each new day. A sudden rush of desire coursed through him and he closed his eyes briefly.

She shook him gently at first, and then more forcefully. "Gil?" she hissed, keeping her eyes on the door as though any moment now the handle would turn and Grissom's mother would walk in. "Gil? Did you hear? Your mother's at the door."

"I heard," he mumbled back grouchily. He turned onto his back with a drawn-out sigh.

Sara refocused her gaze on him and watched him with puzzlement. "Your mother's at the door!" she repeated anxiously while frantically rummaging under the bedcovers for her nightgown. Finally locating it she pulled at it vigorously and Grissom grudgingly lifted a buttock to release it.

"I was hoping she'd take the hint and go away," he replied quietly with an annoyed twist of his mouth. He propped his head on his elbow and smiled as a-tangled-in-the-sheets Sara struggled to pull her gown over her head. He reached out and ran featherlike fingertips on the pale soft skin on the underside of her breast. He felt her repress a shiver and himself stir. His lips pursed in a small smile of contentment.

"Shit," Sara muttered, "help me out here, will you?" He pulled the corner of the bed sheet caught in the neck of the gown out of the way and Sara's head popped through the hole. "I meant to set the alarm on my watch so we'd be up before her," she continued animatedly. "You can't just ignore her, Gil, and hope she'll go away. Besides, she's probably knocked on your door first and figured out you weren't there because you're here and she's going to think I'm nothing but a wanton…"

His laughter stopped her mid-flow and she stared open-mouthed at him. "I love it when you overtalk," he said with a small shrug and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Pursing her lips in mock-annoyance she punched him lightly on the side. He sat up abruptly, catching her by the wrists and gently pushing her back onto the mattress until she was pinned under him. Sara let out a yelp of surprise but didn't struggle and grinning at her he let go of her left wrist to move a strand of hair out of her eyes.

He cocked his brow inquisitively. "Finished talking yet?" he asked.

She made a pout at him and nodded, and he let go of her other wrist. She didn't push him away or try to get up. She simply watched him, her gaze boring deep in his blue orbs as a slow loving smile broke across her face. She was about to ask him something when he pecked her chastely on the lips.

"Thank you," he said, pulling back, his eyes kissing hers softly. She frowned, and he lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. "For last night. Last night, I…" he blew out a small breath and averted his eyes to conceal the flitting dark shadows. The words were at the tip of his tongue, poised, but still they wouldn't come. Finally meeting her concerned gaze he smiled and said, "Last night was beautiful." He took a moment to study her face closely and then leaned down for another, more languorous―

The knock on the door came louder this time and he felt Sara tense and push weakly against his chest. He pulled back slightly. "Stop," she said in a gasp, meeting his gaze meaningfully.

He stifled her words with a slow, languid and lingering kiss that Sara had trouble working herself out of. Eventually, breathless she managed to twist herself away and throw him a stern look.

Duly chastised, he rolled off her, and sitting at the edge of the mattress hurriedly pulled on his pyjama bottoms. He pushed up to his feet with a wince and a stretch of his back and made for the door. With one last slightly doleful glance toward Sara, who solemnly nodded her head at the door encouragingly, he sighed and stepped out of the room.

After a quick bathroom stop, he followed the sound of his mother's closet door sliding shut and found her standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She was buttoning up her coat and he noticed she had tied the scarf Sara had given her as a gift around her neck, a gesture which was of some comfort to him.

"I was about to leave you a note," his mother signed when she finally noticed him hovering at the threshold.

Hearing the reproach in her sigh he simply nodded his head in response and waited for her to continue. He expected her to challenge him, question why he had gone against her wishes and spent the night with Sara. At the very least, he expected her to show disapproval and disappointemnt.

She didn't. She merely took in his appearance at a glance, and stifled a smile. He frowned with puzzlement at her reaction. "It's a little late to be rebelling at your age, isn't it?" she signed.

He eyed her seriously, not ready to forgive her harsh words just yet, and ignoring her jibe, raised his hands. "I spent the night with Sara, in her tiny bed, because she wouldn't come to my room and sleep in my bed." Grissom's hands had taken a life of their own, the words flowing freely, unreserved. "My back hurts," he continued, "And tonight, we will sleep in my room, in my bed." Feeling lighter for saying his peace, he arched his brow, ready to counter her riposte.

His mother gave a single nod of the head in acceptance of his words, taking him completely by surprise. He opened his mouth to talk and then shut it again. He watched as his mother turned away to check her appearance in the mirror, smoothing down invisible creases on her coat and arranging her collar. He sighed.

"Do you want me to drive you to St Michael's?" he asked hesitantly, still disconcerted by her behaviour.

Looking surprised by his offer she smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, but no. I'll walk. It's a nice morning and I've plenty of time." He nodded. "You and Sara could come to pick me up afterwards though," she offered hesitantly.

His face lit up with a genuine smile. "We'd like that."

She gave him a nod of the head and as easily as that their differences had been settled. She covered the distance to him and touched him on the chin, and he nodded that indeed, he would shave. She watched him fondly for a moment before pulling back and picking up her purse.

"And you're sure you don't want to come to Mass with me?" she tried unconvincingly.

Chuckling, he shook his head. "No."

She knew not to insist. "Okay," she signed, "I'll pass on your regards to Father Francis."

"You do that." He heard a sound and glanced over his shoulder down the corridor. "We'll meet you at the graveside afterwards."

He was about to leave when Betty put her hand on his arm, stopping him. "There's fresh coffee in the pot and breakfast stuff in the fridge," she signed. "I wasn't sure what you and Sara would want. You make sure-"

He stilled her hands with his. "We'll be fine," he said with words, smiling.

Betty stared at him intently for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. He watched her leave and make her way downstairs before quietly slipping back into Sara's room. He felt lighter for his talk with his mother; it was as though they had reached an understanding, as though she had finally accepted Sara as his girlfriend and a central part of his life.

Sara didn't hear him come in. The radio was on low in the background, the mattress back on the bed, and Sara was stretched across it, humming and looking rather fraught. He smiled and watched her struggle with one corner of the fitted sheet for a moment. She must have felt his eyes on her for she snapped her head up toward him.

"My mother's gone to church," he said quickly, stooping to pick up the pillow off the floor. He fluffed it and plopped it on the head of the bed.

She paused smoothing down the quilt and nodded. He could tell she wanted to know more but she didn't ask. She just smiled at him, saying instead, "Help me push the bed back in the middle of the room, will you?"

He nodded and together they finished straightening the room, like true professionals succeeding in erasing all trace of their interlude on the floor. Suddenly, Sara burst out laughing.

"What?" Grissom asked, his gaze narrowing suspiciously. He wiped his mouth and ran a quick hand through his hair.

"Lower," Sara said, finding it hard to control her laughter.

He looked down to his chest with a deepening frown.

"Lower."

His face fell as he caught sight of his back-to-front pyjama bottoms, and he closed his eyes. "Oh, dear God."

Sara giggled, "Do you think your mother noticed?"

A picture of his mother stifling laughter flashed in front of his eyes. "Oh, she noticed, all right." He shook his head, chuckling. "Oh, well. At least now she's got the full picture."

Desperately trying to keep a straight face, but failing to, Sara brushed her hand along his cheek. "Better you than me, I'd say." She sobered up, asking, "How long have we got until we need to go?"

"An hour and a half?" he replied. "A little more, maybe."

"Plenty of time to get ready then," she said, stretching her back and working the kinks out of her shoulders. She winced with pain and he smiled. "Let's go get some breakfast," she said, looking up suddenly. "I'm famished."

His eyes told her a different story. He placed his hands on her hips and rotating her slightly eased her backwards onto the bed. Her knees hit the side and she fell back gracelessly, laughing and sinking into the quilt.

He leaned over her, stroked his finger across her right cheek to a tendril of hair covering her eyes and gently tucked it behind her ear. Her laughter subsided and she swallowed. His eyes lit up with a smile. "We got the house to ourselves," he said, his lips moving softly to her neck. Sara's head lolled to the side and she closed her eyes with a gasp of appreciation. "Let's make the most of it."

* * *

A/N: After the intensity of the previous two chapters I felt a little light-heartedness was in order. I hope it brought a smile to your faces; it certainly did me. Can I take this opportunity to thank again all of you reading and leaving reviews, but also all the people who are putting the story in their favourites and on alert? It is by far my most popular story to date and I hope you continue to like it.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Some inspiration taken from the spoiler photographs of Sara from The Two Mrs Grissoms episode. I so can't wait to see it.

Doesn't Sara look absolutely stunning in that dress?

* * *

"Gil, can you help me with the clasp?" Sara asked distractedly as she stepped into the bathroom.

Looking up from the sink Grissom blindly felt the side for his face towel and turning toward Sara, wiped the leftover shaving cream off his face. He froze in his movement, his eyes widening with wonder, his breath catching in his throat.

Lifting her hair out of the way Sara was holding a silver chain to her neck. Her head was tilted downward away from him, exposing the long pale curve of her nape. The sweet scent of her perfume drifted up to him, permeating his nostrils. The smile adorning his lips was one of pure pleasure and contentment and taking in a deep breath he closed his eyes before abruptly snapping them open again, his look of blissful wellbeing and wonderment turning to fear and panic. His gaze flicked down to his clothes and he heaved a miserable sigh, wincing as though in physical pain as he took in his faded blue jeans and Hope sweatshirt.

Her head still bowed Sara peered up at him from the top of her eyes. "Clasp?" she repeated, a knowing smile twitching on her lips.

Snapping out of his trance, Grissom gave himself a shake of the head. He tossed the towel in the sink and raised his hands to the back of her head. Shaky fingers brushed against hers as he took the necklace from her and numbly fastened the clasp.

Holding the silver teardrop pendant to her skin, Sara looked up and beamed pleasurably at him. "Thank you."

Unable to find his voice he could only stare back at her dumbly. She just looked so radiant, so naturally beautiful that his heart filled with pride; she was his, heart and soul. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders in its customary style, soft natural curls framing her oval-shaped face so as to give her a young, slightly carefree look but the dress she'd put on took his breath away.

The dress, a sleeveless light green straight cut summer dress that stopped just above the knees and complimented perfectly her tanned long limbs, fitted her impeccably. The slight tapering at the bust and granddad-style neckline enhanced her cleavage to maximum effect, the pendant he had gifted her for her birthday sitting with pride in its centre. Her feet were bare; her legs sans stockings. His eyes shot back up to her face, which bore only the faintest trace of make-up, a little eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss, and his lips curled into a shy, loving smile. Awestruck, he swallowed the constriction in his throat.

Her grin widened at his reaction and she slowly scanned her eyes down the length of his body, from his freshly-shaven face down to his bare toes poking out from under the hem of his jeans. "Hum," she appraised, "So, I guess you weren't planning on taking me out, huh?"

Grissom's gaze shot down to his front again and he lifted a small shoulder in a helpless and very contrite apology. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. "I—No. Sorry."

Sara blew out an overly dramatic breath. "You're just taking me home for the first time," she lamented, "to meet your mother. No big deal."

His hands flew to hers. "Oh, Sara, honey, no. I'm sorry. I-I just…didn't think. I didn't realise. I've not done this before-"

"I get it," she continued despondently, "It doesn't matter if you look bad; you don't need to impress anyone but me, on the other hand-"

His face fell and he brought her hands to his face. "Oh, Sara, please-"

A grin slowly broke across her face. "Relax," she said, unable to keep up the pretence, "I was only yanking your chain."

He pursed his face in mock-irritation but all he managed was a sad pout. He brought his hand to her face and cupped her cheek. "You look gorgeous," he stated quietly, looking into her bright eyes, clearly in awe of her. He shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry."

"You think so?" Sara asked with genuine surprise at his word. She smoothed down the seat of her dress. "It's not too much? I've brought some flats to go with it."

He gave her a slow shake of the head in reply. "No. It's…perfect." He took her hand and made her give him a twirl. "I've not seen it before. Is it new?"

She shrugged. "I was keeping it for a special occasion and I think today qualifies as that."

"How do you mean?" he asked with genuine puzzlement.

Her face darkened and she watched him for a moment. It was clear she was trying to ascertain whether his bafflement was genuine or not. "Gilbert," she said, hesitating, "I know you're not the most clued-up man when it comes to women, but for a woman meeting her boyfriend's ex is a big deal. Especially in your case and especially since she's your mother's friend and she's been in your lives forever. Besides Gil – and it's okay with me but – I get that she favours her over me."

He swallowed and averted his eyes, nodding his understanding. "I'm sorry. But you know," he waved his hand about the place, "this is hard for me too."

"I know," she said softly. She brought her hand to his chin and tilted it up until their eyes met. She smiled at him tenderly and he smiled back, grateful for her support, thinking it strange how she was able to handle all this a lot better than he was.

He reached for her hand on his chin and brought it to his lips. "I love you."

"And I love you," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes.

He laughed and they leaned toward each other for a kiss. When they broke apart, Grissom looked down at himself appraisingly. "If it's any consolation the sweatshirt's new," he said weakly.

"Hum. Well, I'm not getting changed," she said categorically.

"And I wouldn't want you to," he said animatedly. "You're going to blow them away but…I haven't brought anything else," he said with a small shrug. His eyes narrowed in thought and he raised his index finger, indicating that he had an idea, that she should stay put and that he'd be back promptly. He rushed out of the bathroom to his bedroom, and opened his closet door, quickly flicking through the hangers of long-forgotten clothes for what he needed.

"What's this?" Sara asked, coming up behind him. She reached past him for a pair of navy corduroy pants he had stopped at.

"Something my mother got me a few years back," he said, studying the pants. "I've never worn them."

Sara pulled the pants off the hanger and ran her hand over the smoothness of the corduroy. "They're nice," she said.

"I don't think they're going to fit," he said, patting his stomach a little wistfully.

"Your mother has good taste," she remarked. "The colour complements your eyes perfectly. Come on, try them on. What do you risk?"

"That they'll make me feel old and out of shape?" He snatched the pants off her, and sighed. "Go on then, all right. What choice do I have?"

"What choice indeed?" Sara said with an arch of her brow.

He tossed the pants on the bed and began unbuttoning his jeans, watching as Sara continued flicking through the clothes hanging in his closet while he got undressed. She stopped when she got to the last item on the rail and catching sight of what it was he swallowed. His heart began to pound loudly in his chest, and he froze.

She had her back to him and he couldn't see her face but she spent a moment studying the tree-piece dark suit with wide lapels and bell-bottom cuffs à la John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Grissom would have looked good in it too in 1979, except that he never got to wear it. Sara ran her hand over the clear protective cover and he saw her shoulders heave with a sigh. She turned suddenly, a smile on her face but he could still see the conflicting emotions, the questions in her eyes her discovery had brought. She didn't voice them and he didn't let on he'd noticed. He simply turned away and grabbed the navy corduroy off the bed, pulling them on.

"So?" she asked. "They fit?"

Grissom did the fastening and the zipper. "A little on the tight side but they'll do. I can always cheat and undo the button." She nodded and he couldn't help the clenching in his heart at her subdued expression.

"Let's see what we can do about your top," she said, moving to his chest of drawers and pulling the first one open. It was full of papers and old, broken bits and pieces and she shut it quickly before moving to the second drawer.

Before he could stop her Sara had found the little bundle wrapped in crêpe paper that he kept hidden, neatly tucked away among whatever clothing he kept there and never wore. She carefully unwrapped the paper and he blanched.

"What are these?" she asked her voice catching as she pulled a pair of yellow, knitted infant booties with a threaded yellow ribbon tied in a knot around the ankle.

He had to stop himself from rushing to her and snatching the delicate booties out of her hands. A look of fear flashed across his eyes followed shortly by deep sadness. The words were at the tip of his tongue, poised and yet he couldn't get them out. For a moment it felt as though his eyes were shining with tears but he looked away briefly and when he turned back to her they were clear.

"They were mine," he said at last, his voice so quiet and choked-up he wondered whether he'd uttered the words out loud.

A wistful smile lit up Sara's face and she looked up from the booties. "Yeah?"

He smiled. "Yeah," he said softly. "My grandmother on my father's side knitted them for me when I was born. There was a matching hat but it got lost."

Sara's gaze dropped back to the booties and she traced her fingertip along the length of the ribbon.

Unable to stand it any longer, he covered the distance to her and gently took the booties from her. His heart thumped madly in his ears, his mouth suddenly dry as he stared at them longingly before gently replacing them in their protective cover and in their safe place at the back of the drawer. He shut it promptly and opened the next one. "I think I may have a shirt in here somewhere," he said, breaking the lengthy silence. "It's an old one but it's the best I have without going to the shops."

He looked up abruptly and met her eyes. She was watching him intently, as though she could see right through him. She raised her hand to his face with such love and tenderness that he almost told her everything there and then. He just wanted her to know without having to say the words, without reopening the wounds. He just wanted her to see it in his eyes, in his heart, and for her to take the pain away.

Her eyes were telling him, "It's all right. I'm with you. Whatever we have to face we'll face together." But she didn't say the words. She just smiled at him and then she said, her voice gentle and coaxing, "Come on, you need to finish getting ready. It's almost time and I would like to stop by a florist on the way, and get some flowers for your dad's grave."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The shirt I'm referring to but couldn't find the words to describe – and God knows I tried – is the one Grissom's wearing at the end of _Way to Go_ when Sara comes out of the bathroom in her robe and he tells her how he would like to die. I'm sure you all know exactly which shirt I'm talking about.

Reviews are very much loved and appreciated, and they're how I know if you're (still) enjoying the story. Thank you.

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Grissom slowed down on approaching St Michael's church and scanned the adjacent parking lot for space. The church was in the Spanish Colonial Revival style, pure white and traditional for the area, with two striking steeples on either side. Mass hadn't ended yet and the church doors were still shut, the steps leading up to them free of post-Mass chattering and mingling worshippers. He checked his watch; a few more minutes and the church bell would toll eleven, the doors open and the congregation spill out into the quiet street.

After taking a left turn down a side street he followed a low white brick wall for a hundred yards or so before signalling left and pulling into the gated car lot of the cemetery. Cutting the engine with a short sigh, he turned on his seat toward Sara. "I told my mother we'd meet her at my father's grave," he explained. "She'll be a while still and I thought we could have a moment to ourselves with him first."

Smiling at him, Sara nodded. "I'd like that." Her eyes flicked to his chest and she repressed another fit of giggles, shaking her head again as she had done every so often during the short ride over.

A knowing smile pulling at his lips he followed her gaze down to his shirt. "What now?" he asked but there was no mistaking the amusement in his tone.

The look on her face could only be described as one of painful disgust. "I can't believe I let you out of the house in this."

"It's not that bad," he defended weakly.

Sara's smile was indulgent and forgiving. "Only you would think it was…" she paused, her face screwing up in a grimace as she thought of the correct word, finally settling for, "...stylish?"

"Actually, I was thinking of bringing it back home to Vegas with us. It used to be a favourite of mine."

Sara's brow arched. "And when was that? Back in the day?"

He pulled a face at her. "Very funny."

She pinched her lips but not before a small snort of laughter had escaped. "It'll go nicely with that hideous hat of yours."

"Thank you," he said his tone overly pleasant as he ignored her acerbic tone, "That's just what I was thinking."

Sara's eyes widened with shock. "You wouldn't wear it for work, would you?"

His brow waggled with obvious glee. "I can't wait to see Catherine's face." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "It wouldn't be the first time either. I rather enjoy it actually."

"What, the attention?"

He shook his head. "No. You know I don't like that. Winding her up on the other hand..." he let his words trail with a wink, "She takes herself and her opinions far too seriously."

Sara laughed, then shook her head at him and gathered her purse. "Come on," she said, opening the door, "Let's go meet your dad."

Holding hands, they slowly walked down the neat rows of lined-up gravestones, their feet crunching the gravel quietly, the silence surrounding them, one of peace and tranquillity, serenity even. Sara held the wreath they had purchased on the way and he took a moment to look around and reacquaint himself with an old friend. He and his mother had spent a lot of time there after his father's untimely death and rather than feeling scared and unnerved by the place, he'd always been in awe of it, even as a child. Not surprisingly it had hardly changed at all since his childhood, and there was some comfort to be had from that.

"I used to come here often when I was young," Grissom said all of a sudden as they walked. "I like the solitary feel, the tranquillity of the place." He laughed. "Not that it was noisy at home but…" He let the rest of his words trail with a shrug. Sara smiled and nodded that she knew what he meant. "I don't find it bleak or sad here…" He stopped suddenly. "Is that weird?" he asked as Sara turned an enquiring expression toward him.

She laughed. "Not coming from you, no."

He pondered her reply with puzzlement for an instant and then shaking his head resumed walking. "I think you would have liked my father, Sara," he said musingly after a while. "I don't remember very much about him but from what my mother says he was a lot like me. Or…I'm a lot like him."

Sara's brow arched. "You think?"

His gaze narrowed with interest. "You don't?"

Sara opened her mouth and then lifted her shoulder in an uncertain shrug. "Jury's still out?" she ventured, pursing her mouth hesitantly. "I was kind of thinking you and your mother are very much alike actually." She eyed him cautiously, visibly gauging for his reaction. He let out a warm chuckle, and squeezing his hand Sara added warmly, "I'm sure I would have loved him."

Grissom's head whipped round toward her with surprise and he smiled. "And he would have loved you. We're there," he said suddenly, slowing down just as the church bell began to toll the first of eleven strikes. He let go of her hand and facing his father's grave used it to sign himself. Sara watched him for a moment as he paid his respects and when he glanced at her with a smile she leaned down and delicately placed the wreath on the marble. Hands clasped together in front of him and his eyes closed Grissom spent a few more minutes in silent contemplation. When he finished he slipped his hand in Sara's and she turned toward him with a ready smile.

"You okay?" she asked.

His face lit up with a grin. "Sure," he laughed, and shook himself out of his sombre thoughts. "My father says," he raised his free hand, signing, "'Please to meet you, Sara'." Sara's face shone with pleasure and leaning over he pressed his lips to her cheek. "My father was a formal man," he explained quietly as he pulled back, "in the literal sense of the word."

Sara gave out a gentle laugh and turned toward the grave, silently nodding her head in greeting. Movement beyond her shoulder caught his eye and he redirected his smile at the woman approaching, waving a small hand by his side before enquiring with one hand, "Everything okay?"

Betty ran a quick appraising look over his and Sara's appearance, her face eventually pursing favourably and Grissom couldn't help the pang of annoyance her attitude caused. Angling herself toward her husband's grave his mother made a quick sign of the cross before replying, "Father Francis says he missed you at Mass."

Grissom's smile vanished, his face closing off at the unspoken reproach. Releasing Sara's hand he retorted curtly, "He says that every time I'm in town and I've already explained to him-"

His mother raised her hand, silencing him. "I know."

Grissom sighed and flashed Sara a brief smile. She was watching him uncertainly and he quickly explained, "I was missed at Mass, that's all. I get it in the neck every time I come. You'd have thought they'd have given up gathering their lost sheep."

Sara startled at the intensity of his words and at the sudden shift in his mood. She glanced at Betty whose head was bowed toward the grave, her lips moving in prayer, and then back at Grissom. He simply shrugged a helpless shoulder and she held out her hand for him to take. He curled his fingers around hers with a grateful smile.

Leaning toward her, he whispered in her ear, "She'll be done in a few minutes and then we can go."

The wind suddenly got up and he felt a shiver course through him. Betty straightened up and signed herself again. Something in the distance must have caught her eye because she looked up suddenly and stared for a while before whipping concerned eyes toward her son. Frowning, he followed her eyes, glimpsing the familiar shape of Julia's body, four rows down from them. His heart clenched.

Her back to them Julia stood on her own and very still, her head bowed in prayer. A passing image, a memory of a past together, filled his mind and him with sadness, and yearning too. He closed his eyes briefly and then refocused them onto his mother and glimpsing the same sense of sorrow and longing in her eyes realised that unbeknown to him she already knew his biggest secret. A secret he had painstakingly kept locked in a little box, buried deep inside his heart for almost twenty-seven years.

Feeling tears rise he flicked his gaze up to the sky and blinked anxiously. Then he dropped Sara's hand, signing quickly behind her back, "Did you know about this?" His mask was in place, his face dark, his gaze cold and accusatory.

"You had to know she'd be at Mass, Gil." Betty lifted a small shoulder. "We talked briefly. She's paying her respects to her mother."

Again Grissom saw the reproach on his mother's face and he closed his eyes, nodding. He hadn't made the trip up from Vegas to attend Julia's mother's funeral five years ago, much to her chagrin. He'd simply made his excuses, citing work and an unavoidable court appearance to get out of his obligation. "True to form," she had said her disappointment and heartbreak over his actions evident. She had been right, of course, he was a coward, and she and Julia had been left to comfort each other.

He reopened his eyes, chancing a quick look at Sara. She must have picked up on the mood shift because she was watching Julia intently, her face hard, her eyes narrowed with distrust and hostility. His throat contracted and he swallowed, turning away. He felt Sara's hand slide in his, her fingers curling tightly around his in support. Frozen in time he didn't – couldn't – return the gesture. He just stood still, tense and numb, stoic one might say as he desperately tried to keep a lid on his conflicting emotions.

He itched to go and talk to Julia there and then. But he couldn't. He needed to speak to her on his own, ascertain why she was there, what she wanted, what she was trying to achieve. He wanted her to make her excuses and not show for dessert. He wanted to take Sara as far away as possible from this place, from Marina Del Rey, from his past, from his pain. It had been a mistake to bring. Maybe he could get Catherine to call and fake an emergency.

He looked at Sara again and saw the worry etched on her face, the unconditional and endless love she provided him with in her eyes. She smiled at him then with such warmth and tenderness that he knew he would be fine, _they_ would be fine, and that it was time he faced his past and his ghosts.

His mother caught his eye, signing briskly, "I'm going to walk back home and make a start on lunch. Take as long as you need." Sara turned toward her causing her to pause in her signing. She smiled at the younger woman warmly, and continued to do so as she signed to Grissom, "I think it's time you told Sara the truth. All of it."

Sara let go of his hand and bent down to brush a few dead leaves off his father's grave. "How do you know?" he signed back hesitantly, avoiding his mother's gaze.

"Does it matter how I know?" she asked wearily with her hands. She smiled a small apologetic smile and glanced down toward Sara's back. "She deserves to know, Gil. If you're as serious about her as you profess to be then she needs to know, and she needs to hear it from you."

Sara straightened up and frowning refocused her gaze onto Grissom. He smiled at her tenderly before nodding softly at his mother's words. Betty patted Sara's shoulder warmly and then her son's. "Take as long as you need," were her parting signs.

He gave her another silent nod of the head in reply and watched as she turned away. Smiling, she brushed her gaze over his father's grave as though she was speaking to him and without another word left. He turned back toward where Julia had been standing but she was gone.

Sara's fingers threaded through his and he slowly refocused his gaze on her. Looking pained at his sorrow she tugged him by the hand to her and wrapped her arms around him. He closed his eyes, eventually relaxing in her embrace, and leaning into her dropped his head on her shoulder despondently.

Running her hand over his head she asked quietly, "That was her?"

He gave a week nod of the head into her shoulder.

She pulled away and dipped her head, making eye contact. He quickly wiped the mist in his eyes. "We all have a past, Gil," she said. "I know that better than most people, and so do you. There's nothing to be scared or ashamed of," she paused, letting her words trail, waiting for him to pick up the hint.

"I'm not ashamed of my past," he said softly. "There's nothing in it to be ashamed of. It's just…not something I like to revisit, that's all." He could see understanding in her gaze and he smiled.

She lifted her hand to his face. "Come on, let's go back to your mother's."

He thought about what his mother had just told him and then shook his head at her words. He couldn't put it off any longer; Sara had a right to know and that before she and Julia met. "Come," he said, taking hold of her hand as he hurriedly took off. "There's somewhere I want to show you first. Somewhere we can talk."

Grissom walked through to the older part of the cemetery and then out of it through a small gate leading to a side dirt road. He didn't slow down his pace as he headed down the track and Sara had a little trouble following. He took a right turn and cut through a narrow slightly overgrown path. They rounded a corner, and then another one, and suddenly the wind was blowing stronger in their faces and the ocean opened up before them.

"Wow," Sara awed.

Grissom stopped abruptly and tugged Sara's hand back forcefully, back-pedalling on himself. She turned round, her brow furrowed with puzzlement. "I've changed my mind," he said quickly, almost panicky, "Let's go back now."

Sara watched him with growing concern. Then she heard a sound behind her and turned. Tightening his grasp on her hand, he closed his eyes and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"Hello, sweetheart," Julia signed when he finally made himself meet her gaze.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Happy Birthday to my _beautiful and talented_ friend Jean. I watched the clip again and they definitely did it like rabbits all over the house and not just briefly. See how I can phrase things politely when I want to? ;-) I wish I could fly to Podunk Florida right now and give you a big hug. That, and I'd be able to watch tonight's _Two Mrs Grissoms_ with everyone else and not have to wait until the next day. Sometimes life sucks.

Enjoy the show tonight everyone and fingers crossed CTV didn't get it wrong. Big breath, I am SO excited!

Oh, and thank you so much for the overwhelming response to the previous chapter; I just hope you enjoy the rest of the story as much.

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"Hello, sweetheart," Julia signed when he finally made himself meet her gaze.

It took Grissom a moment to reign in his shock at seeing her, here, now, so soon. Again he swallowed, but the lump would not budge. Blood thrummed loudly in his ears, echoing the erratic beating of his heart. How could he have forgotten that the place he loved coming to so much when he was young, a place he'd always found soothing and reflective of his mood, wasn't his alone? How could he have forgotten it was hers too – _theirs_ – from a time together, a time in a forgotten past, a time he had painstakingly tried to erase from his memory but not quite succeeded, a time when he and Julia were friends and then later, years later, lovers?

He would sneak up there after Mass, in the evenings, at the weekends, during the holidays, and just be. Years later he would come and wait. Wait for Julia to come. He should have known she would be there after Mass today and wait for him. He should have known that. _She_ had. He had walked straight into her trap and taken Sara in with him. Sweet Sara that still had no idea. How could he have been so stupid as to let himself be cornered like that?

Sara shifted next to him. The sudden tightening of her fingers around his gave him strength and courage. He refocused on Julia's gaze and held it. "Don't call me that," he signed back briskly with his free hand, his expression cold and unreadable despite his inner turmoil.

Hardly acknowledging Sara's presence at all, Julia kept the pleasant smile on her face and her eyes fixed on Grissom as she retorted, "You used to like it."

He swallowed and glanced toward Sara but her expression was neutral and Grissom felt relieved that she wasn't more fluent in sign language. Keeping a tight hold on her hand he took a protective step forward, placing himself between the two women. "I haven't been your 'sweetheart' in a very long time," he signed coolly.

Julia's face suddenly softened with affection at what she saw in his eyes, her smile becoming fond and wistful. Feeling naked and transparent under her scrutiny he averted his gaze to her hands as long, slender fingers retorted, "In my heart, you'll always be my sweetheart. You have to know that no one's ever taken your place."

Grissom visibly tensed and shot Sara an anxious look but she didn't understand what was being said. A relaxed, confident smile adorned her face as she watched Julia, her gaze narrowed in careful appraisal of her opponent. She angled her face away toward Grissom, her grin broadening mischievously as she whispered, "Follow my lead." Giving his hand a final squeeze she let it go and turned back toward the other woman.

Late forties, shoulder-length blonde hair framing a carefully made-up face that didn't quite cover her crow's feet Julia was tall and slender, and wore a cream, tailored pant suit and heels. She leisurely flicked her eyes away from Grissom onto Sara. Her gaze turned cold and condescending, her smile snotty as she ran a critical eye over the younger woman.

Unfazed, Sara's pleasant smile stayed on as she raised her hands to sign, "Julia, nice to meet you." She took a couple of steps forward past Grissom, confidently thrusting her right hand at Julia.

Visibly taken aback, Julia hesitated before finally extending her hand and shaking Sara's briefly. Dismissing the younger woman with a scornful look her gaze flicked back to Grissom and she signed, "You look good, Gil."

Julia looked good too, he couldn't deny it. He shook himself out of his stupor and not acknowledging Julia's comment turned toward Sara and offered her his warmest, most loving and proudest smile. "Julia, let me introduce Sara to you. Sara Sidle, my girlfriend," he signed, saying the words aloud for Sara's benefit. Sara's curl of the lips was broad, very proud and suddenly very superior. "Sara," Grissom continued, "Julia Dixon―Holden now, I believe," he signed pointedly.

Julia's face darkened imperceptibly but she soon recovered her composure, and flashed a quick, indifferent smile at Sara. Grissom placed his hand in the small of Sara's back and drew her close to him. "We ought to go," he signed to Julia, eager to get away, "my mother is expecting us." Leaning over he gently brushed his lips to Sara's cheek and murmured, "Thank you."

He was turning back toward Julia when movement above her head caught his attention. He pinched his lips but couldn't smother the smile suddenly breaking across his face as the off-white creamy _substance_ fell in a blob on her shoulder. He glanced up to the Heavens, grateful for the intervention, his head shaking with mirth. Sara make a sound, a strange strangled snorting sound and when their eyes met he found it hard to keep a straight face. Completely unaware of the bird poop already crusting in the midday sun Julia was eyeing them suspiciously.

Grissom simply couldn't resist the temptation. He waved his fingers above his own shoulder in a circular motion and signed the words 'bird' and 'poop' at her. Julia's face scrunched with disgust, her head snapping round to check her shoulder, and then she looked back at Grissom for help.

Smirking slightly, Grissom fisted his right hand over his heart and rotated it a few times, signing "Sorry," if not looking it. His eyes were twinkling with amusement as he added, "I'm all out of handkerchiefs." He raised his hand to his side and waved, "We'll see you later." Then he reached for Sara's hand and without a backward glance turned and led her back the way they had come.

They were laughing and hurrying down the side dirt road headed back toward the cemetery when Sara said, "That jacket is ruined. She'll never manage to get the poop off it."

He stopped suddenly, and fixed her with a mischievous stare. "She shouldn't have been there then, should she?" he said with a petulant twist of his mouth.

"She's-" Sara's eyes flickered to his chest and then back up to his face. "She's not how I imagined her." Grissom had nothing to say to that, so he kept silent. Suddenly looking uncertain and shy she dropped her eyes, asking, "How was I?"

His heart swelled with love for her. He slowly pulled her to him by the hand, and she looked up. "You, Miss Sidle, were perfect." His face took on a darker expression, and he smiled. "I couldn't have done it without you."

She was watching him with questions in her eyes; questions he knew would remain unspoken until he made the first move. He brushed back a tendril of hair away from her eyes and leaning toward her pecked her chastely on the lips. He paused and lifting his hand to her cheek stared at her intently before softly brushing his lips against hers again, and then again, and again, gradually deepening the kiss until her mouth yielded and she allowed him to put forth all the love and passion he carried for her in his heart. Sara's hands flew to the back of his head and she returned the kiss with fervour.

Breathless and smiling he pulled back and took a moment to look at her, searching for the right words. Sensing his hesitation she covered his mouth with her hand and said, "I believe that things happen for a reason, Gil." She lowered her hand and her gaze to his chest.

Grissom frowned in puzzlement and dipped his head. "Are you talking about the seagull doing what Nature intends?"

She laughed, "No." Sobering up quickly, she held his gaze meaningfully. "Hear me out," she said tentatively. "Things happen – _bad_ things happen – to make us strong – stronger. They influence who we are, who we become, what we do." She paused and swallowed, and he nodded gravely.

He heard a rustling sound, and he turned abruptly, scanning the side of the road for the origin of the noise but there was nothing, no one, just the gentle swaying of a nearby wild pear tree's low branches.

"Everything okay?" Sara asked with concern. And just like that the moment to confess all was lost.

Grissom was looking distracted when he turned back. "Just a rabbit," he said, and smiling he took her hand and resumed walking. Sara tucked herself into his side and he dropped her hand, draping his arm over her shoulder while she wrapped hers around his waist. Her hand glided under his shirt and she stroked featherlike fingertips on his skin while they walked. Feeling a chill course through him he repressed a shiver and cast a quick glance over his shoulder checking behind them. The dirt road was deserted and he gave a shake of the head at his silliness.

He was about to turn the key in the ignition when he paused and abruptly turned toward Sara. He ran his tongue over his lips and closed his eyes unsure how best to begin telling her about Julia. At last he reopened his eyes, and stared directly at Sara's loving, expectant ones. She smiled at him encouragingly and he could only shift on the seat, suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

"It's okay," Sara said, pre-empting him.

Raising his hand he shook it, "No." He flashed a brief smile. "It's not okay. There's something you need to know. Something I should have told you before we came. I just never thought my mother would have invited Julia while I…while we were here." He took a breath and Sara's hands in his, and played with her fingers. "Julia was more than just a girlfriend, Sara," he said in a breath, his eyes fixed on the middle console separating them. He looked up. "She was my _first_ girlfriend and the woman I was going to…" the word was there, stuck in his throat, and he swallowed it.

Sara pulled her right hand out of his grasp and brought it to his face. "I know," she said quietly with a wavering smile. "I know."

His eyes asked, "How?"

"The suit," she said, with a small lift of her shoulder, "in your closet?"

He gave her a small nod of the head in understanding.

She smiled again, broader this time. "It's okay." She paused, as though searching for the right words and then said, "I take it, it didn't happen? I'd know if you'd been married before, right?"

Her tone was teasing, not filled with reproach or disappointment as he had feared. But it was tinged with sadness too. Tears shone in his eyes and he flashed her a weak smile, nodding his head at her words.

"So what happened?" she asked softly.

He chuckled, pulled a face and shrugged all at once, and then wiped a rough hand over his eyes. "Oh, the usual," he said. "A cliché, I'm afraid, sadly nothing to write home about. I found her…in bed with a friend of ours." He shrugged again, and unable to hold her gaze stared unblinking, unseeing, straight ahead through the windshield. "Turned out he wasn't the first. Or the last I'm sure. I didn't stick around to find out. I just called the wedding off," he continued quietly, stealing a glance in her direction, "left the coroner's office in LA and moved to Minnesota."

He could feel her eyes on his face. It was though she was waiting for him to carry on, as though she knew there was more that he wasn't saying and when he didn't continue, she just squeezed his hand warmly, comfortingly. He looked up at her with sorrow in his eyes, trying to muster the courage talk about Rose but the words were hard to find and resigned, he closed his eyes.

Sara shifted forward on the seat, her hands lifting to his neck and she pulled him to him, and held him close. "So what?" she surprised him by whispering in his ear. Her tone of voice was light, and he reopened his eyes, pulling away from her. A tender smile lit her face. "You almost got hitched to some chick back in the day. Big deal, huh?"

He laughed. "When you put it like that," he said with a small shrug.

Her face softened with love. "Doesn't trump my frolicking in the lavatories of flight AA436 I'm afraid," she quipped with a straight face.

Grissom promptly snorted with laughter. "Nothing can."

She shrugged, warm, laughing eyes kissing his tenderly. "You remember what you told me when I told you about my past?" she then asked.

Chuckling, he shook his head. And yet he remembered that afternoon in her apartment all too well. She had opened up to him then, spilled her dark past out at him and he'd never looked back. _They_'d never looked back. He had been there for her, as he was sure she would be there for him. "I talk a lot of crap, Sara," he said at last, "And you're the one who keeps a record of everything I say."

A beautiful grin was playing around the edges of her mouth. "That's right," she replied pleasurably. "And you said, 'What almost destroys us but doesn't makes us stronger'."

He nodded. "As I said, I talk a lot of crap."

She lifted her hand to his face and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from his cheek. It could have been the ghost of a tear. "I don't think you do. I think you were talking from the heart."

He nodded again. "Thank you."

The church bell chimed twelve, startling him. He leaned across and stroked his lips over her mouth and then pulled her forcefully to him. He held her tightly to him, his face burrowing in her hair, and they remained as one for a long moment, still and silent, until the pain in his chest lessened.

"Let's go," he finally said, pulling away, "Or lunch will be overdone and we won't hear the end of it."


	13. Chapter 13

His senses were on alert as soon as they stepped through the door to his mother's house. He paused and turned back toward the street, his gaze searching for signs of Julia or her car. Sara put her hand on his shoulder, excusing herself to go to the bathroom, and with a sigh and a shake of the head at his uneasiness he closed the door. Immediately the heavenly smell of his mother's cooking filled his nostrils, taking him back to times past, and he allowed himself a reprieve. Julia wouldn't be there for a little while yet.

The table in the dining room was already set, and beautifully so. He froze, his heart sinking in his chest and he let out a sigh, his gaze dropping despondently as he walked into the kitchen.

His mother's face lit up with pleasure on seeing him. "You're back already?"

He didn't acknowledge her words. Instead curt hands signed, "The table's set for four. Please, tell me you haven't invited Julia for lunch. Dessert was bad enough, but lunch?"

Her shoulder sagging with a sigh, Betty averted her gaze. "It was a spur of the moment thing, Gil." She looked up, meeting her son's gaze dead on. "Beside it was silly her coming just for dessert when she had nowhere to be." Grissom threw his hands out in a helpless gesture. "She's lonely, Gil," his mother added, "What was I to do?"

"_Lonely_?" he repeated with disbelief.

Betty's shoulder rose. "She's going through a messy divorce. Robert's being difficult-"

"Divorce?" he cut in, shaking his head in bewilderment. "But what about Sara?"

"What about Sara?" his mother signed. "Sara's got _you_." She paused and looked at him intently. "You told her about you and Julia, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did, but-"

"Well, then, what does it matter? It all happened such a long time ago, Gil. I'm sure you can put your differences aside for one meal. I'm certain Julia will." A light flashed on and off a few times on the kitchen wall and Betty's head turned toward the door. "Now, Gil, our guest has arrived, so be a good boy and go and let her in." Betty's smile was fond as she stared at her son a moment longer before turning him round and shooing him out of the kitchen. "You'll be fine. Go make everyone a drink, I'll be along shortly."

With a worried glance up the stairs he opened the front door. Julia startled, whipping round toward him from admiring the Mercedes. "I like the car," she signed, with an appreciative purse of her mouth. "Beat that crappy old banger you used to drive me around in. What was it again? A 66 Mustang?"

Fixing her with a hard stare Grissom took in and exhaled a long breath, but bit his lip.

Grinning pleasurably as she brushed past him into the house, Julia added, "I do have some good memories of that car though, especially the backseat."

Grissom shut the door a little more loudly than he intended.

"So how old is _she_ anyway?" she continued without pausing as she cast a look around the room. As if there could be any doubt as to who 'she' was she added, "She with you because of the sex?"

Grissom's eyes widened to the size of saucers and he swallowed, his eyes darting to the stairs first and then toward the kitchen door. He knew he shouldn't rise to the bait. He couldn't help it. "That's enough, Julia," he signed with brisk, angry fingers. "I won't have you talk about Sara like this."

Her face took on a teasing expression, and she burst out laughing. "God, Gil, you used to be so chilled about everything." She laughed a little more. "Relax, sweetie," she signed, her smile widening pleasurably. "I'm only messing with you. God, you can be so stiff sometimes." She paused and studied him gravely for a moment. "So you're serious about her?"

Grissom's pulse was steadily rising, his fingers clenching and unclenching by his side. He was about to put her in her place when Sara came down the stairs. He fixed Julia with another hard, warning stare and turned a strained smile toward Sara. Her brow rose in question and he shrugged, motioning with his eyes toward his mother in the kitchen.

Giving Julia an easy smile, Sara signed, "Nice to see you again, Julia." She fisted her hand over her chest and rotated it once, then pointed to her shoulder before pausing with a frustrated muttering of, "Tell Julia to give me her jacket. I think I may be able to remove the stain." Grissom frowned at her with puzzlement. "The stain?" she repeated, with a wave of her fingers over her shoulder. "Julia's obviously cleaned up the mess as best she could but it's left a nasty, greasy mark."

"Oh. You don't have to do that, Sara," he said.

"No, I want to. I feel bad laughing about it. Your shirt could easily have been on the receiving end of that bird's deadly aim."

He looked down at his shirt, mumbling, "Well, we all know karma's a bitch."

"Grissom!" Sara exclaimed with disbelief. Her eyebrow rose, her smile stiffening in a please-can-you-do-this-for-me-and-not-make-a-scene manner. Julia was intently watching their lips, deep lines etched on her forehead, and Grissom grudgingly interpreted Sara's request.

A look of surprise softened Julia's features and she smiled despite looking unnerved by Sara's friendly attitude. "It can't be ruined any more than it is already," she signed tentatively. "I'd have gotten changed but-" she faltered and quickly removed her jacket before passing it to Sara with a grateful, if still uncertain, smile, before lifting her right hand to her chin and bringing it out.

Betty chose this moment to come through from the kitchen. Beaming at her guests, she wiped her hands on her apron and made a beeline for Julia. Julia's face transformed as she opened out her arms and enveloped the older woman in a tight, genuinely affectionate embrace and a cloud of Chanel. The two women were obviously very fond of each other.

"How kind of you to invite me for lunch," Julia said, pulling away from Betty's arms and glancing toward Grissom and Sara, "Especially when you have guests." She took the older woman by the hand and took a moment to study her. "You look absolutely fabulous!"

Betty touched her hair demurely, her gaze flicking to her son and he couldn't help smile at his mother's obvious pleasure.

"This scarf is totally gorgeous on you," Julia added. "Is it new? I've never seen it before."

Shaking his head at the display Grissom took a couple of steps back, feeling behind his back for Sara's hand. Their fingers brushed, and suddenly her breath was on his neck. He shivered. "Don't worry about me," she said. "I'm fine." He turned toward her and she smiled at him that wide, beautiful grin of hers and he knew that indeed she would be fine. Him, on the other end...

He watched as Betty, still positively basking in Julia's attention, pointed toward Sara and signed, "It was a gift from Sara, Gil's new girlfriend. Isn't it just gorgeous?" She made eye contact with him, asking Julia, "Gil introduced her to you, didn't he?"

"Yes, I did," Grissom signed.

"Good." Betty linked arms with Julia. "So Gil, how about you make us some drinks?"

Sara cleared her throat and raised her hand to get attention but the two women were too wrapped up with each other to notice. A bottle of wine passed hands and she heaved a sigh. "I'll just go and…" she waved toward the jacket.

Grissom was watching her with a soft, knowing smile and after a slight hesitation he brushed his lips to her cheek. "Don't be long," he told her. "I don't know how long I can cope on my own."

Sara ran her hand along his cheek to the cleft in his chin. "You'll be fine."

He nodded, watching as she made her way upstairs. When he turned back his mother had disappeared back in the kitchen and Julia was making herself comfortable on the armchair. Grissom remained standing.

"Nice shirt," she signed without a trace of malice on her face. He pursed his mouth at her teasing, and she smirked. "I see your fashion sense hasn't improved with age. Gift from the girlfriend?" she asked, a mischievous smile now playing on her lips.

He narrowed his eyes at her but catching a glimpse of the old, carefree Julia in her banter he felt himself relax and took a seat across from her. He lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "I'll have you know that it's made by Tommy Bahama and is _very_ expensive."

Her laughter filled the room and he watched her with a fond smile for a moment, thinking that it almost felt like old times. The tension began to dissipate in him even though Julia was holding his gaze steadily, the pleasant smile not leaving her lips. "You look good," she signed finally with a flick of her eyes to the rest of him and an appreciative purse of the mouth. "I'm glad you finally decided to shave off that beard of yours."

He frowned suddenly. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, your mother told me," she replied breezily enough but something about the way her cheeks had coloured told him she'd let slip something she shouldn't have.

He sighed and averted his gaze, shifting uncomfortably on the couch before raising his hands hesitantly. "I was hoping we could remain civil to each other actually, you know in the circumstance," he shrugged uncertainly, "for my mother's sake, and Sara's too."

Julia was smiling pleasantly. "She seems nice. I like her."

"Julia-"

"Oh, all right! I can remain civil―if you can."

He nodded and swallowed. "And also, I'd be grateful if you didn't bring up Rose either."

A well-defined brow rose. "She doesn't know?"

He shook his head. "Not yet." He glanced toward the kitchen for signs of his mother. "Wh―When did you tell my mother about it?"

Julia's smile lost some of its shine, and she ran a shaky hand through her hair. "I didn't. I never betrayed my promise to you. My mother did. She swore to me she wouldn't but in the end…"

His gaze dropping to the floor Grissom nodded his understanding. Julia's mother's battle against cervical cancer had been long and fraught, and Betty had been there for her friend every step of the way. A hand fell to his shoulder and he turned with a start.

"Everything okay?" Sara asked.

"Sure." His smile strained he held his hand out to her, and she joined him on the couch. "I need a drink," he said suddenly getting to his feet. "Sara?"

"Juice," she replied, watching him uncertainly. "Whatever there is is fine."

He turned to Julia. "Julia, drink?"

Her nodding was as enthusiastic as her signing. "Definitely. Martini please, and be generous."

With one last look at Sara he went to fetch the drinks. He poured himself a scotch, took a swift gulp and refilled the glass. When he returned the atmosphere and the smiles on both sides were rather tense and showing a few cracks. He placed Julia's drink on the low table between them and handed Sara's hers, enquiring with his eyes whether everything was okay. She nodded, and he sat down, his hand coming to a rest on her thigh. The display of affection wasn't lost on Julia.

Betty entered the room just as Julia was asking Sara, "And how long have you two been together?"

Betty turned a raised brow toward her son, who promptly glanced at Sara. The latter's frown was deep and he could see the cogs in her brain slowly turning as she attempted to decipher the question. Leaning in close he said, "They want to know how long we've known each other."

Sara nodded and smiled. He was raising his right hand to reply when Sara covered it with hers. "Wait," she told him. "I can answer that." Turning toward the two expectant women she smiled, signing proudly, "Eight years."

Betty and Julia shared an incredulous look. "Eight years?" their hands exploded simultaneously.

Sara's face fell and she leaned toward Grissom. "What? Did I get it wrong?"

Grissom chuckled. "No. I think I did." Sara frowned. "I think they wanted to know how long we've been together as a couple."

"Oh. Should I put them right?"

Grissom was watching his mother, and he smiled. "No."

Her eyes on her son, her smile wicked, Betty signed to Julia, "Gil is Sara's boss."

Julia's eyebrow rose with interest, and Grissom narrowed his eyes, fixing his mother with one of his trademark stares.

"Come on," she then signed, laughing, "Take your drinks through to next door, lunch is ready."

Grissom sat at one end of the table next to Sara and Betty while Julia took the seat across from him. His mother placed a couple of dishes in the middle of the table and he watched as Julia closed her eyes and took an overly deep breath of his mother's cooking. Reopening her eyes she signed, "Betty, this smells wonderful. I'd forgotten how good your beef stew is."

"It's not beef stew, Julia," Betty corrected indulgently. "It's boeuf bourguignon."

"Gil's favourite," Julia signed, shooting a meaningful glance at Grissom.

Grissom caught his mother's eye, indicating Sara with a flick of his eyes in her direction.

Betty's face registered a look of understanding and she smiled pleasurably. "Relax," she signed. "I haven't forgotten. I've some vegetarian sausages in the oven for her." She leaned in toward Julia, explaining, "Sara's a vegetarian."

Sara tapped Grissom on the hand. "Tell them it's your fault I became a vegetarian."

"You understood all that?" Grissom exclaimed with wonderment.

"Gil," she said, "I knew we were having beef for lunch the moment we stepped into the house."

He sighed, his gaze flicking back to the two women staring at him expectantly and then back at Sara. Grudgingly he raised his hands, confessing, "It's my fault Sara's a vegetarian."

Both women's gazes flicked to Sara. She shrugged and grinned and put her hand on Grissom's arm and kept it there. "Let me tell the story," she said, while he interpreted with his hands, "I tell it better. A few years back, we were working this case where this woman had been killed, wrapped in a blanket and dumped in the forest..."

Both Betty and Julia's faces scrunched up with disgust. Grissom bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. "You tell it better, huh?"

"Maybe you can save the rest of the story for afterwards, huh?" Betty suggested, hurrying back to the kitchen for the rest of the dishes.

The meal was a quiet and relatively pleasant affair, and Grissom relaxed enough to enjoy his food and the company. When he had finished the last morsel of his second helping, he pushed back his plate and patted his stomach. "Thanks Mom. That was wonderful." Positively beaming at him Betty began gathering plates and dishes. "Let me do that for you," he signed, getting to his feet. "You've done more than enough already."

"I'll help," Julia signed standing up abruptly.

Grissom shared a pained look with Sara, a look that clearly said, "Oh, help me God."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thank you, as always, for reading and adding the story to your favourites, but most of all for the wonderful reviews so many of you leave. This story would have been finished several chapters ago if it weren't for you and them. I hope you keep enjoying.

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Grissom looked over his shoulder, watching through the open door as Betty and Sara stared at each other, awkward smiles on their lips. Sara's gaze flicked to the door, her eyes telling him again not to worry, that she was fine, and he smiled tenderly at her. Betty tapped her gently on the arm and she reluctantly tore her eyes away, her face immediately taking on a look of intent concentration as his mother began to sign to her.

His heart clenched and he hurried to the sink, dumping the pile of dirty plates he was carrying with a clatter in his haste to get back to Sara. When he turned round Julia was watching him with amusement.

"Where's the fire?" she asked.

"I don't want to leave Sara alone with my mother for too long."

"Afraid she might scare her away?"

He smiled to himself. "No. Sara already knows my worse habits." He shrugged. "It's just that her signing…" he let his words trail with a fearful glance toward the dining room. Sara was laughing at something Betty had said, and he relaxed a little.

"She's all right," Julia went on, her eyes following Grissom's. "I'm sure your mother will behave herself. She seems to like her."

His face lit up. "She does, doesn't she?"

Julia nodded, her gaze turning wistful as she watched him. The deep sadness and desperation, the longing he saw in her eyes unsettled him, and he looked away abruptly.

Her mother had already set up the coffee machine and he flicked on the switch, his gaze flitting through the window to the backyard and his mother's cherished flower beds and fruit trees. She spent a lot of time tending that yard and he smiled, thinking of the Japanese-style yards back in Vegas that his mother loathed so much.

Julia tapped him on the shoulder and he flinched, his head whipping round with surprise. Noting she'd gathered dessert bowls and coffee cups on a tray he smiled awkwardly.

"My mother says you're getting a divorce," he signed hesitantly.

Julia's smile vanished and she looked away, her nod of the head brief and downcast. "It was a while coming," she signed after a moment, leaning her back against the worktop. "There's no love lost between us."

Grissom gave her a nod of the head in understanding. "You're still living in Sacramento?" he asked.

She dropped her gaze. "No. I moved away five months ago." She looked about to say more but her hands halted and she didn't.

He pinched his lips, his eyes flitting toward Sara next door. "The kids have made the move too?" Meeting his gaze dead on Julia swallowed and shook her head and he turned away, pretending to check on the coffee spluttering into the pot. "So where are you living now?" he asked, casually turning back toward her.

Julia's eyes flew to his mother next door, and then back to his. She raised her hands and paused before finally signing, "Henderson. I live in Henderson."

The news felt like a punch in the stomach, taking his breath away. "Henderson?" he repeated with disbelief, signing each letter with care lest he had misunderstood. "Henderson, Nevada?" he repeated again, as if there could be any doubt. "You live in Vegas?" He covered his face with his hands and turned away. Her hand fell to his shoulder and he shrugged it off. "Don't touch me," he snapped audibly, turning around to sign the words. His face was taut with anger, his breathing overly measured as he stared her down.

Julia drew her hand back. "Listen, Gil," she signed meeting his gaze and pausing with hesitation. "There's something else you should know. I tried several times to―I went round your place several times but…" his gaze narrowed at her, cold, hard and unforgiving, and she wavered.

Panic set in and he anxiously waved both hands in front of him, cutting her short. He lifted his index finger to her face in a threatening manner but then lowered it. "I need to get back," he signed briskly, turning away and wrenching the fridge door open.

She held him back by the arm, and he paused. "Gil, wait, please," she signed moving into his eye line. "It's not what you think."

"And what am I thinking?" he asked with a raise of his brow. She looked back over her shoulder toward Sara and his mother in the other room and he pushed past her. "I can't do this now," he signed heatedly. "Don't spoil things for me please."

Holding his gaze, she gave him a resigned nod of the head.

Grissom reached for the trifle chilling in the fridge and without another word made his way back to the dining room, Julia following a few paces behind with the tray. Betty and Sara picked up on the mood shift straightaway. Their smiles vanished, their hands falling to the table as an awkward silence settled over the four. Wordlessly he plopped the dish in the middle of the table and resumed his seat.

Anxious eyes on her son Betty rose and began serving dessert. Sara stood up too and helped her with passing bowls and coffee cups. She managed to catch his eye briefly, her gaze enquiring whether he was okay but his face was set and dark and all he managed was a tight, wavering smile. He took the proffered bowl and began eating without much of an appetite, the gazes of the three women boring deep holes to the top of his head.

After finishing her dessert Sara cleared her throat, saying, "Betty tells me you're a teacher?"

He looked up just in time to catch her signing 'teacher'. Flicking her gaze off Julia she flashed him a smile that was at once warm and tentative and so very loving and concerned that a feeling of guilt immediately filled him. His behaviour wasn't fair on her; she was trying so hard to make a good impression but he couldn't help how he felt.

"Gil?" Sara said, the trembling in her voice betraying her fear. "I can tell something's wrong. Talk to me, please. Let's leave here for a while. Let's go for a walk. Clear your mind. We don't have to talk if you don't want to. We can just…please."

Grissom refocused his gaze, and smiled at her with all the tenderness and love he felt in his heart for her. Tears burned behind his eyelids and he blinked. Without thinking, he reached for her hand on the table and brought it to his lips. "I love you," he said with words, quietly, holding her gaze steadily as if his life depended on it.

Sara registered a look of surprise at his words, shock that soon morphed into a look of deep pain, and she smiled, turning her hand in his so as to cup and stroke his face.

His mother tapped him on the arm and Sara pulled her hand away. Suddenly remembering that they weren't alone he gave a start. "I'm sorry," he told Sara, and rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I'm…just not feeling myself."

"I think I got some Advil in my bag," she said, with a self-conscious glance at the two women watching the exchange. "You want me to get it for you?"

He gave her a slow shake of the head in reply and taking a deep breath made himself face his mother. Her anxious expression said it all.

"Is something the matter, Gil?" Betty signed.

He brought his fist to his chest, rotated it once and tried a soft, appeasing smile. His mother smiled back and glancing at Julia signed, "Did Julia tell you about her new job?"

Grissom's head whipped round toward Julia. Looking pained she lifted her shoulder in a small shrug. "I got a headship at the Gilbert College for the deaf."

"Head of Deaf Cultural Studies," Betty added proudly. "Isn't it great?" Her face fell suddenly, her eyes widening with fear at what she'd let slip.

"It's all right, Betty," Julia signed. "He already knows I've relocated to Vegas, and as you can see he's not too happy about it."

He refocused darkened eyes onto his mother. "And you've known all this time? And you didn't tell me? Don't you think I had a right to know?" fast hands asked heatedly.

Betty's gaze dropped to the table. "I…wanted to tell you but I was worried," she signed, meeting her son's gaze dead on, "I was worried you'd react like this. The mere mention of Julia's name and you close off and become upset."

"Can you blame me?"

Betty threw her hands in the air in frustration. "It's not what you think, Gil," she added pleadingly."This isn't about you!"

"The hell it isn't!"

He caught his mother's startled flinch at the vehemence of his retort, and paused suddenly, thinking her words over. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts of Rose that he'd never stopped to consider the real reason behind Julia's presence there.

Sara was anxiously watching the exchange between the three, her discomfort over her lack of understanding apparent, and he realised that he hadn't interpreted any of the conversation. He blew out a drawn-out breath, his eyes seeking hers apologetically.

"Julia's moved to Vegas," he explained, "new job, and I think my mother's moving to." He burst out in a sad, disbelieving chuckle. "Can it get any worse?"

The corner of Sara's mouth turned up in a sympathetic smile, her brow rising teasingly. "Put it this way," she said, holding his gaze meaningfully. "She could decide to come and live with you."

His eyes widening at the thought he snapped his head round toward his mother. "You're moving to Vegas," he signed quickly, a smile breaking across his face. "That's what you needed Julia here for, isn't it? So you could tell me?"

Betty nodded her head. "Well, I'm _thinking_ about it," she amended carefully. A wave of relief washed over her face and she shared a look with Julia. "You're not against the idea?" she asked, looking puzzled by his reaction.

Grissom blew out a breath, and shrugged an uncertain shoulder as he considered the implications of her moving. He knew his mother was far too independent to want to move in with him, but still. "What about the house?" he asked finally, thinking of his time capsule upstairs and all the memories and mementos – good and bad – it kept.

Betty watched her son for a moment, and gave him a wistful smile. "I know," she said. "I know. My memories of your father are here too but it would mean I'd be closer to you and I could see more of you – and of Sara too," she added turning a wide grin at Sara. "I'm not getting any younger, Gil."

He watched his mother for a moment and reached out his hands for hers. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said with words, gripping her hands tightly.

She shrugged, dropping his hands to sign, "I tried but you know what you're like. You're always so busy and-" She paused and turned her gaze toward Julia, lifting her shoulder again. "It's a big decision for me to make. Not one I will make lightly." Grissom flicked his gaze to Julia and then back to his mother. "I wanted to know what you thought before I make up my mind."

He nodded, and took a moment to relay the conversation to Sara. "And you'd sell the house?" he then signed, realising as he said the words aloud to Sara that the prospect filled him with sadness.

Lifting her hand at Betty before she could reply, Julia signed, "Your mother's been finding it increasingly hard looking after it, Gil. It's a big house and-" she faltered, silenced by one of Grissom's dark stares.

"She's right," Betty signed quietly. "And I'm lonely."

Grissom let out a long breath and nodded his head in understanding. He pursed his face, his gaze dropping to his half-eaten trifle as he tried to come to terms with the changes in his life. He looked up when his mother placed a cup of coffee next to his hand. "I always thought you hated Vegas," he told her.

"I do, but the people in it are what make the place, Gil."

"Gil?" Sara asked, "Can you interpret something for me?"

"Sure." He watched her with regret in his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. I don't mean for you to feel side-lined like this. This…visit isn't turning out as I imagined it. Not at all."

"Hey," she soothed, "I'd say this was way more conventional than I'm used to. I'm just sorry I can't contribute more, you know?" She raised her hands in front of her before dropping them to the table. "Put in my two-pence worth."

His face lit up and he reached for her hand. "You're doing great," he said. "If you weren't here I'd be half-way back to Vegas by now."

Sara squeezed his hand. "Since you don't seem to find the words can you tell your mother from me that you will support whatever decision she makes?"

He laughed and pulled a face at her while interpreting her words to his mother. Betty's face pursed with a mixture of surprise and gratitude and reaching across the table she covered Sara's hand with her left one while thanking her with her right one. The intimate gesture wasn't lost on Julia whose face darkened ominously.

Betty got up from the table and rummaged in the dresser for a moment before retrieving an old photo album. Grinning she lifted it in Grissom's eye line, her eyebrow waggling gleefully. "I think it's time I showed Sara a few chosen photographs," she signed before seating back down at the table and opening the album.

Julia pushed her chair back abruptly, signing that she needed the bathroom, and Grissom leaned forward before chuckling as his mother pointed to a black and white picture of a chubby, round-faced baby Grissom in rompers, grinning up at them from his pram. Sara stared at each picture with awe and wonderment and when she looked up the look and smile they shared were filled with unconditional love and happiness. Betty turned the page and pointed to another picture, one taken at the beach when Grissom couldn't have been more than a couple of years old.

Sara's hand lifted to the picture and her fingers brushing gently over it she looked up. Her eyes were shining. "This is exactly what I imagined this visit to be like," she said, "Thank you for bringing me here." She looked at Betty and signed, "Thank you for showing me these."

Betty's face softened with fondness. "You are part of the family too now," she signed, glancing toward Grissom and waiting for him to interpret her words. He did, and Sara nodded while blinking her tears away.

Betty was turning to the next page when Grissom's cell rang. Frowning he fished the phone out of his pocket. "Catherine," he told Sara.

Her brow rose. "You called for back-up?"

He laughed. "No. I'll take it in the kitchen." He pushed to his feet and waved the phone in his mother's eye line. "I'll be right back."

He was putting the phone away when Julia joined him in the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water from the tap, popped a couple of pills into her mouth, took a small sip and then another as she swallowed back the pills.

"Work," he signed by way of explanation. Julia gave a weary nod and she scrunched her eyes shut. Grissom made to leave but paused at the threshold. "You okay?" he asked tentatively.

"There're having a great time next door, aren't they?" she signed, the sad forlorn look on her face conveying her true feelings in a manner her hands couldn't.

Ignoring the sarcastic undertones of her comment, Grissom glanced toward the door to the two women bent over the album, pointing at pictures and laughing and he couldn't suppress the happy smile the sight caused.

"I'm sorry about before," he said with his hands after a moment. "It just came as a shock, that's all. I wasn't expecting it."

"And what were you expecting?" she asked, her eyes downcast.

He shrugged his reply, his gaze flicking back to Sara and his mother.

Julia tapped him on the arm, signing briskly, "When I saw you with her back there on the old road, I wanted it to be me. In your arms, like that. It used to be me, Gil. You used to look at me like that."

"Julia―please, don't do this."

She rose up to her tiptoes, her hands coming up to his face, and kissed him.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: A couple more chapters after this one, I think. I'm just very busy with work and my mind's not on this at the minute. Things might change though and inspiration strike. We'll see.

And if you were expecting a cat fight between Sara and Julia I'm very sorry to disappoint. Sara's the better woman in this story and on a mission to impress Grissom's mother, even if she did see the kiss. Also I wanted Grissom to fight this fight on his own.

MC New York, thank you. Just when I was thinking I had taken a wrong turn somewhere; your review couldn't have come at a better time. :-)

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Grissom's hands flew to his face, forcefully prising Julia's off his cheeks and wrenching her away. His heart was pounding. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, and then anger filled them. Anger and a deep sense of dread.

Sara.

His head snapped toward the open door, hoping, praying with all his might that she hadn't been witness to Julia's madness. But she had her back to him and her soft chuckle filled the silence as she laughed at something his mother had signed, completely oblivious to what was happening in the kitchen. He closed his eyes as a deep wave of relief washed over him and blew out a long, deep breath.

When he refocused on Julia, his gaze was hard, dark and unforgiving. His breathing hitched, his hands on her wrists tightening their vicelike grip as he fought to control the searing anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He glimpsed fear in her eyes and then pain, and realising that he was hurting her he abruptly let go of her wrists, jerking her away from him with force. She stumbled back onto the kitchen table, rubbing her wrists and holding his gaze. Tears began to pool in her eyes and blinking, she looked away.

He lifted brisk, furious hands at her. "You conniving little bitch!" His heart rate was through the roof, his fury blinding, and he raised his hand at her. Realising what he was about to do he sucked in a deep, fraught breath through his nose and clenched his fingers into a tight fist before turning away.

"You don't understand!" she signed, tears streaming down her face. "I-I-"

"Oh, I understand all right," he cut in heatedly. "You're here because you can't bear to see me happy when you're not. You're here because you're scared my mother will prefer Sara over you, and you can't bear for that to happen, for someone else to take that treasured place in my mother's heart. You're here because you want to split me and Sara up." Her gaze dropped to the floor. "Look at me, Julia," he signed, dipping his hands to her eye level, "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

She swallowed and raised sorrowful eyes back up to his face and he saw the truth of his words in their reflection. A sad smile of disgust curled his lip and he shook his head pitifully.

"Let me make myself clear to you," he continued after a moment, his breathing and signing a little more controlled and measured. He raised his brow. "I love Sara. I _love_ her," he signed, putting particular emphasis on the sign for 'love', "and you can get whatever Machiavellian scheming ideas out of your head right now. You will - can never change the way I feel about her."

Holding his gaze defiantly, Julia sniffed and wiped a rough hand over the constant flow of her tears, streaking mascara all over her cheeks. "You loved me once too."

His shake of the head was overly slowly and pained. "No, Julia." He paused, and watched her intently. "I didn't know what love was then. Real love. We were friends. We became lovers. We were young. Too young." Her head was shaking at his words and he went on quietly, "I loved you, yes, but I was never in love with you. Not like I am with Sara. Sara lives in here," he signed, gently banging his right fist on his heart a couple of times. "I didn't know what it meant to be in love then." He pointed toward next door. "Sara's taught me that."

"I don't believe you." Julia's eyes scrunched shut, releasing more tears, and she shook her head. "You're wrong. You're wrong!" Her eyes reopened. "What we had, what we shared was the real thing."

His anger dissipated at the despair and heartbreak he saw in her face. "No, Julia, it wasn't," he signed more quietly now, staring at her with a pained, sorry expression. "It wasn't."

"That's not true, Gil," she cut in briskly, "And you know it. I broke your heart," she went on quickly, her lips pinching in regret, "and I'm sorry I did that. I made a terrible mistake, one I have regretted ever since." Her face softened and she tried a smile, but it wobbled and turned into a sob. "One I still regret now," she continued weakly. She made to touch him on the shoulder but he drew back sharply from her, casting a quick glance toward the living room.

He thought about closing the door but a wistful smile broke across his face on catching sight of the second photo album open on the table that Sara was bent over and he stared at the scene for a while, brushing loving eyes over the back of her head, longing to join her side and share this special moment with her. He couldn't. Not just yet. He needed to put Julia straight once and for all. He needed to make her see that what she felt for him wasn't reciprocated. Not anymore.

He caught his mother's worried look over Sara's shoulder, noticing that the smile she flashed him was a little strained. He could tell she'd seen part of the conversation with Julia and he smiled faintly, giving her a pained look that said, "Look after Sara for me. Please."

Sara looked up from the album and Betty flicked her gaze back to her with a warm, friendly smile as she pointed at another picture. She signed the word 'father' and Grissom watched them interact a little longer, waiting until he felt calmer, until his mask was firmly back in place to refocus on Julia. She was sniffing, bent over as she loaded the dishwasher and he tapped her sharply on the shoulder. She wiped at her eyes and met his gaze.

"Julia, I don't have feelings for you," he signed overly slowly, desperate for her to believe him. She shook her head stubbornly and looked away, picked up another plate, which she rinsed under the tap and loaded into the dishwasher.

He sighed. Impatient fingers twitched by his side as he watched her, and he stole another glance next door. He made to leave but stopped at the threshold abruptly and turned back. She looked up, meeting his eye. She'd stopped crying.

"Is that why you moved to Vegas?" he asked with his hands. "To be closer to me?"

She paused and shook her head in reply. She straightened up and a shoulder rose. "But when I saw the ad for the job, I thought why not? I thought it's a sign from God, you know? I thought we could," she shrugged sadly, "maybe be friends again."

"Friends?" he repeated with disbelief. His eyes narrowed suddenly. "Did you ever come to my house? Is that how you knew I'd shaved my beard? Because you saw me?" His brow furrowed deeper as a chilling thought crossed his mind. "Have you been watching me? Did you ever see me with Sara? That's what brought all this on, isn't it? Jealousy."

"No!"

"You can't be happy in your own life so you want to make me unhappy too, is that it?"

"No. No, Gil. I_ love_ you."

"Love? Love? This isn't love. This is poison," he signed curtly, before throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Her shoulders dropped with sorrow, her eyes welling again. She took a step nearer. "I've never stopped loving you."

"Why now?" he asked suddenly, moving so he had his back to the door, blocking the way. "Why wait all these years to make a move?"

Her face darkened but she didn't reply.

"Is this about you and Robert splitting up?" he went on without pausing.

"No!" she signed, looking more and more agitated.

"My mother said you were lonely, so what? You think we'll just pick up where we left off, that I'll just let you back into my life like nothing ever happened?"

"You are the love of my life, Gil, and I let you go."

He raised his hand, stopping her. "Enough. I've had enough of this. You can't dump all this on me now. You and I were finished a long time ago, and for a reason."

"You're wrong."

"What about Robert?"

"Robert was never _you_!"

"He was good enough to cheat on me with though, wasn't he?"

She blinked a few times and then wiped around her eyes. "Robert and I have been living separate lives for a long time. We just stayed together for the kids' sake. Paul's been doing research in Newfoundland for the last year. Once Rosie moved out there was no reason for me to stay."

He swallowed, his gaze flitting over her shoulder through the window to the backyard. He needed air. And now. His head was throbbing, and feeling hot and claustrophobic he pulled at his shirt collar and closed his eyes.

"But this isn't about you and me, is it?" she asked as soon as his eyes reopened. "Or even about you and Sara." She paused, waiting for his reaction, adding when he remained silent, "Why don't you ever go visit her, huh, Gil?"

He didn't meet her gaze but knew instinctively who she was referring to. "How do you know I don't?"

"Well, do you?" Her hands moved calmly, there was no accusation in her tone.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. "No."

"She's your daughter too, Gil."

His eyes snapped up, his heartache clearly visible in them. "There isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about her." He brought his hand to his face and began massaging his temples.

"I still have feelings for you," she tried again, taking a step toward him and lifting her hand to his face. Turning away he stepped back and she snatched her hand back. "I still love you, Gil and I have done for all these long years."

"I don't," he signed without hesitation, his expression reflecting pain and pity. "I love Sara. She is everything to me. She's undone all the harm you did. She taught me to trust again, love again. She's taught me that it's okay to let go and be vulnerable again because I know she can never hurt and betray me the way you did."

Julia watched him silently for a long time before finally averting her eyes and giving him a resigned nod of the head.

"I want you to leave," he added. "I want you to make your excuses, say goodbye to Sara and my mother, and go. Vegas is big enough for the two of us so we never have to meet. I don't ever want you to come to my house unless invited and when my mother decides to move there, which I have a feeling she will, we'll agree some rules."

When he glanced toward the dining room he noticed that Sara wasn't sitting with his mother anymore. His heart sank in his chest. Betty was watching him with a pained expression and he knew she'd seen what he had just signed to Julia. Had Sara? He lifted a small, helpless shoulder at her and with one last dark look at Julia turned his back and went out the back door.

Immediately, sunlight blinded him, intensifying the drumming in his head. Head bowed he set off at a brisk pace, heavy feet crunching down the gravel along the edge of the backyard. Automatically he cut through the hedge at the bottom to a small wooden gate. Without thinking or without a backward look at the house he lifted the catch to open the gate and strode blindly across the sloping hillside to a small copse. There he slumped down against a tree, his head dropping to his hands between his legs, the tears rolling down the side of his face relentless, unbidden.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thank you again, for reading and for the wonderful reviews. They blow me away every time. I've never divided opinion quite so much. I hope you enjoy this update.

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Quiet footsteps approached, bare feet entering his field of vision as she slowly came to a stop in front of him, the skirt of her dress brushing against his face. Sucking in a fraught breath he wiped at his eyes and stared intently at the blue flower tattoo on her ankle until it blurred with tears. He could feel her eyes on the top of his head as she stood there uncertainly, uneasily even, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. He just couldn't. At that moment in time looking up and seeing the reproach and disappointment in her eyes was more than he could bear.

He'd let her down. He'd walked out on her, on them, the women in his life, and it seemed that that was all he'd ever done. Walk out, avoid the grief and drama. Drown himself in his work and pretend like nothing was happening. Like nothing was touching him, hurting him. It was easier to pretend he didn't feel at all than feel all that pain in his heart all the time. _I wish I was like you. I wish I didn't feel anything._ Her words spoken to him after the horrifying attack on Pam Adler came back to him and pinching his lips he covered his eyes and shook his head as more silent tears spilled. If only she knew.

Sara took a step closer, reaching out a tentative hand to him and touching his forehead with her fingertips. Her fingers curled back hesitantly and then she sighed and put her hand on his head. When he still couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze she let out another breath, tossed her sandals and bag on the ground and wordlessly sat down beside him.

"You'll dirty your dress," he croaked out at last, stealing a glance through his fingers in her direction.

"I don't care about the dress, Gil. I care about you." Her tone was a little harsh, probably harsher than she'd intended but he deserved it. When he didn't respond she gave him a playful nudge of the shoulder, adding softly, "So, you think you can just disappear on me like that and think I won't notice?"

He wiped his face against his shirt sleeve, and still not meeting her gaze shrugged a sad, sulky shoulder.

"You know," she continued mildly, "your mother told me you used to disappear like that for hours on end when you were a child. I told her you hadn't changed at all." She paused and rummaged in her bag. "Care for some Advil?" she then asked, holding out a couple of pills in her hand under his nose. "That's all I could find."

Her consideration didn't surprise him in the least. Grateful, he wordlessly took the pills from her and she produced a small bottle of water.

"I came prepared," she added with a shrug when he lifted red-rimmed eyes at her. She gave him a smile.

Nodding his thanks he popped the pills in his mouth, drank half the bottle and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I needed some air. I didn't mean to bail out on you like that."

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to explain."

"How did you know where to find me?"

The corner of her mouth turned up. "You've made me into the best, remember?" She shrugged. "It wasn't hard to figure out. Besides I saw you heading out the back and your mother…well, let's just say she knows you well."

Her comment raised a smile and he nodded his head.

"That's better," she said smiling as she reached up and traced the outline of his lips with a gentle finger.

"You and her seem to be getting on okay," he stated carefully.

"We are." She smiled. "She's very nice and very proud of you, and of what you've achieved. We've got that in common, I guess." She paused and dropped her hand, averting her gaze to the ground. "She asked me if I wanted children." She flicked her gaze back up, meeting his sorrowful one. "Like that, straight up, no warning. She looked at me straight in the eye, pointed at the picture of you in the pram and signed, "Do you want babies?" She gave a quiet chuckle.

"Oh, god, Sara, I am so sorry."

Restless hands played with the hem of her dress and she laughed. "Oh, don't be. I had a great time. I want copies of some of these photographs. Your mother's not backward in coming forward, is she?"

"No," he chuckled softly. He took one of her hands in his and began playing with her fingers. He sighed, and when he looked up she was watching him. "So, what did you tell her?" he asked hesitantly.

"I didn't know the signs. But fortunately she reads lips very well, doesn't she?"

He nodded. "And?"

She shrugged. "I told her that children weren't in the picture, but if ever things changed she'd be the first to know. What else could I tell her?" She stopped, waiting for Grissom to comment but he was simply too numb for words. "That's not all," she went on with an uneasy chuckle. "Then she shook her head at me and placed her hand on my chest, saying with words, 'No. You, Sara, do _you_ want babies?'"

"Oh, God," he gasped. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. I did a very good impression of a goldfish, excused myself and fled to the bathroom."

"Oh, what a mess," Grissom exclaimed desolately, looking away and blowing out a long breath. Dropping her hand he covered his face and rubbed at it vigorously. "What a mess I have made of things."

Sara shifted closer to him, her arm wrapping around his shoulder as she nuzzled her face into his neck and held him to her. "I'm proud of you," she whispered, brushing her lips near his ear.

Her words took him completely by surprise. He swallowed hard, snapping his head up and round toward her as he understood what they meant. "You saw?" he said in gasp, looking pained.

Her face was inches from his and without releasing her hold on him she nodded softly. "You're lucky I'm not the jealous type," she quipped weakly.

"But how?" he asked.

"The big mirror on the wall above the dresser?"

He couldn't help the smile pulling at his lips. "I'm sorry," he said pulling away from her grasp. "I never saw it coming."

She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely as she asked, "Do you still have feelings for her?"

"No!" he replied without hesitation. "How can you ask that? No, of course not!" His hands flew to hers, and he grabbed them ardently. "I told her I didn't."

"I know," Sara said. She pulled her right hand out of his grasp and brought it to his face, cupping his cheek. "I know you did."

"I did nothing to encourage her," he went on urgently. "You've got to believe me. I never-"

"Sshh," she soothed, smiling tenderly and stroking the tip of her thumb over his cheek. "I believe you." A giggle escaped and she pinched her lips.

He frowned at the change of mood. "What?"

She shrugged and lowered her hand, averting her eyes in embarrassment. "I wanted to…hum…I wanted to storm that kitchen, wrench her off you and give her a piece of my mind."

A smile was playing round the edges of his mouth, a smile he tried badly to conceal but didn't quite manage, a smile that seemed to say, "Under different circumstances I'd have liked to watch." "What stopped you?" he asked instead.

She refocused her gaze and shrugged again. "What could I have done? Beat her up? Scream at her?" A chuckle escaped. "Don't mess with my man!" she roared in a deep voice.

He laughed. "I'm glad you didn't," he said, sobering up. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to deal with it myself." He shrugged. "She's having a rough time dealing with her divorce."

"She wants you back."

He nodded. "I told her I was taken. That I…" he lifted a small self-conscious shoulder, "loved _you_."

A beautiful grin lit up her face, warming his heart at its core. "Good," she said, reaching for his hand between his legs and giving it a gentle comforting squeeze.

"Sh-she's gone?" he asked hesitantly.

"I didn't stick around to find out, but I think they were arguing." She paused and stared at him, waiting, expecting him to take the hint and open up. A lump formed in his throat and he turned away. "Do you trust me?" she then asked in a whisper.

The eyes he lifted to her were dry and resigned and he brought their joined hands up to his lips. "You know I do."

"Then it's time," she told him quietly, pulling her hand away. "It's time you told me the truth."

She was right, of course; the time had come. He nodded, his gaze dropping to his lap.

"Who is Rosie?" Sara asked when he faltered, her words a choked-out whisper. "Tell me, please. I need to know."

The tremor in her voice broke his heart and he snapped his head round to her. Her worry and woe was etched on her face as she watched him. She blinked quickly, releasing two lone tears that silently weaved their way down her face. Very gently he reached across to dry them but she drew back from him.

Pained that he was the cause of her distress he swallowed hard. "Rosie's Julia's daughter," he said at last. "Did my mother tell you about her?"

Wiping her cheeks with the back of her thumbs Sara shook her head. "No." He frowned with puzzlement and she cleared her throat, adding, "There was a picture, a loose one between two pages in the album your mother showed me. It was a picture of a girl, a little girl of around eight or ten. Blond, blue-eyed, beautiful, grinning, happy, in a white gown, with white flowers in her hair."

He nodded that he knew the picture she was talking about, and looked away; his mother had taken it during Rosie's first Holy Communion. He hadn't been invited, not that he would have gone even if he had been.

"It had a name on the back," Sara continued when he lapsed into silence, "Rosie, and a date, 1994. I don't think I was meant to see it."

He shrugged and averted his eyes back to the ground. Tears filled them and he blinked quickly, willing them away, picked up a blade of grass and mindlessly began to pull it apart.

"Is Rosie your daughter too?" Sara asked tentatively.

Grissom shook his head but didn't make eye contact.

"Is Rosie your daughter and you gave her up?" she tried again.

"No," he said vehemently, looking up abruptly. "Oh, honey, no. She's not my daughter. She's too young to be my daughter. I wish she was, but she's not." He took a short breath and when he saw the confusion in her eyes, pulled her to him and hugged her as if his life depended on it. He closed his eyes and sucked in a fraught breath as his tears wetted her hair. Sara's arms came round his back and she gripped him to her, clutching and rocking him as if he were a child.

"Oh, Sara, I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I know I should have told you. I should have been brave enough to tell you, but it's just so hard. So very hard."

He pulled back from her, dipping his head as he sought her gaze. Tears were streaming down her face and he swallowed hard, willing himself to be strong for the two of them. They would be okay. They were strong. They could weather that. She would understand why he'd kept this a secret for so long. His hands came up to her face, gentle thumbs wiping over her tears, pushing her hair back. "I've wanted to tell you for a long time," he said quietly. "I almost did on a couple of occasions but-"

"Tell me now," she said breaking the contact abruptly. She turned, grabbing her bag and gently pulling out the bundle wrapped in crêpe paper she had found in his chest of drawers that very same morning. The breath caught in his throat. Stretching her legs out in front of her she delicately placed the booties on top and began the slow process of unwrapping them. She picked one up and lovingly stroked her fingers over it. "These weren't yours, were they?" she asked, turning toward him.

"They were," he said, trying a small smile. "I never lied to you. My grandmother made them for me." He paused and Sara took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. Drawing strength from her he finally admitted, "But they were Rose's too."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: A possible hanky warning for this chapter. Maybe. It was a hard chapter to write, let me tell you that much.

Thank you as always for reading and reviewing. I've never had such positive response for a story and I hope it continues.

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"Rose?" Sara said in a gasp. Her face was pale, wet with tears, big brown eyes looking up at him, dull and dejected.

Unable to look at her in the eye and give her the reassurance she so desperately craved Grissom looked down to the bootie in her hand, pinched his lips to stop their quaver and took a fraught breath through his nose. His eyes filled. He reached for the other bootie on her lap, shaky fingers hovering hesitantly over it before gently lowering and brushing against the soft wool. Picking it up, he slipped two large fingers inside the small opening and stroked his other hand over it. The surge of emotion that coursed through him almost stopped his heart and he sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes at the searing pain that filled him.

Feeling her eyes on him, he finally gave her a small nod of the head in reply, saying in a breathless whisper, "Rose, my daughter." He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but it was stuck fast and he coughed. Sara's hand moved to his back and she rubbed gentle soothing circles, and then to his shoulder as she silently held him to her. "I have a daughter, Sara," he added softly, at last turning to face her.

"A daughter?" she almost whispered, the words catching in her throat.

He nodded. "Rose. She was born on the third of May 1980."

She blinked, slowly dropping her gaze and her hand from his shoulder, and swallowed. "With Julia?"

He nodded again, his free hand lifting to her cheek, wiping a tear. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, dipping his head, looking at her intently.

Her face crumpled with pain and she shrugged desolately as more tears fell. Lowering her eyes to the bootie in her hand she whispered, "I don't understand."

Their eyes met and the anguish and desolation in hers made his fill with tears again. He tried a smile, but could only manage a pained grimace. "I'll tell you," he said. "I'll tell you everything. But first, you've got to promise me something."

She watched him uncertainly for a moment before swallowing her dread and nodding her head in reply.

"You've got to promise not to judge me, Sara," he continued softly. He placed his free hand on her neck and pulled her to him until their forehead touched. "Please, I couldn't stand that."

Her gaze narrowing imperceptibly at his words she nodded. "I promise."

"Okay." She shifted uncomfortably and he released the hold he had on her. His eyes dropping back to the bootie in his hand he let out a breath, saying, "Julia and I were living in LA. We'd been living together there for a couple of years, maybe?" he asked, looking at her as if she held the answer to his question. Her eyes were fixed to a point on the ground between them and she didn't look up. Tears hovered in the corner of her eyes and he could tell from the quavering of her lip she was doing her best to keep it together.

His eyes on her face he went on, "Julia was still at uni. I was doing well at the coroner's office. We were happy. We were in love."

She looked up at him suddenly. Her face was set, her gaze hard and dark, and he knew this was not what she wanted to hear but she had to know everything. He had to tell her everything before he could tell her about Rose.

His voice raw with emotion he made himself hold her gaze and continue, "One day we found out she was pregnant. We'd been taking precaution but-"

Fresh tears welled in her eyes as he said the words and he faltered. He reached up a hand toward her but she pulled back from him and turned her head away. He snatched his hand back, his eyes flicking to a point beyond her in the distance, his fingers moving to massage his left temple.

"Go on," she said. The coldness in her tone startled him.

Blinking he nodded and said, "That day was the happiest day of my life." His shoulder lifted. "I did the only thing I could, the only thing appropriate, I proposed here and then." He smiled and shrugged again and wiped his eyes but his tears came nonetheless. "We were going to get married eventually anyway so it didn't matter, you know? We had no money. We had this one bedroom apartment we'd furnished with bits and pieces from my mother's attic."

He smiled again, a wry smile, as the recollections flooded back. "But now, with the baby coming we had to hurry and get married before Julia began to show. Come home and do the whole Catholic Church wedding…rigmarole for our mothers' sakes. Of course, we didn't tell them about the baby; we couldn't." He laughed emptily. "They couldn't know. In those days you'd think it wouldn't have mattered any more but not for our mothers." He wiped at his eyes, chuckling callously, "The shame of it. Oh, God, Sara, what a farce!" He covered his face and rubbed it wearily, lapsing into silence, getting lost in the memories.

"What happened?" she asked in a whisper after a while, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He refocused his gaze on her and laughed bitterly. "It's how I told you this morning. My small world collapsed; I found her in bed with Robert, called the wedding off and left for Minnesota."

Sara frowned with confusion. "But what about the baby?"

His face closed off. "I told her I wanted nothing to do with her or the baby, that it probably wasn't mine anyway."

"And was it? Was it yours?"

He nodded. "I couldn't be sure but I wanted her to be mine, Sara. I wanted that child so very much. I never knew you could feel so much for something that wasn't yet. I never knew I had so much love in me."

"And you left?" she asked with puzzlement. "You left them? I don't get it, Gil. You'd never abandon your child, not like that."

"I was hurting, Sara," he said with a shrug. "I was lashing out. I was breaking inside and it was easier to push them both away. Her betrayal almost broke me. I said some pretty nasty things, things I didn't mean. I told her that Robert was welcomed to her, that if she acted quickly enough they could get married before she showed and no one need know, that I'd gladly give him my wedding suit if he needed it."

"Oh, Gil." Sara reached across, gentle fingers lifting his chin up, and met his gaze. His face screwed up with grief and she closed her eyes, releasing tears as she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her. After a moment she tensed in his arms and drew back, wide, watery eyes seeking his gaze. "She had an abortion, didn't she?"

He shook his head. "No. I told you. She had the baby."

Sara's brow furrowed uncertainly. "I don't understand. You said Rosie was too young to be your daughter. Surely she couldn't have given it up-"

"_Her_, Sara," he cut in desperately. "Her name's Rose."

Sara paused and nodded. "I'm sorry." She forced a smile. "Surely she couldn't give Rose up for adoption without your consent, and I know you, you'd never have agreed." She tilted her head to the side, staring into his eyes as she tried to make sense of what he was telling her. Her gaze narrowed with disbelief as she asked, "You didn't agree, did you?"

"No," he replied softly, shaking his head. "That's not what happened. You're right, I could never have given Rose up for adoption."

Sara's mouth opened with the next question but blinking away more tears, she shook her head uncertainly and remained silent.

Grissom blew out a small breath and cleared his throat. "No. Julia came. She came all the way to find me in Minnesota. I'd been living in Minneapolis for three or four months when she turned up at my door with a suitcase. She'd gotten the address off my mother. She'd taken the coach mid-way across the country and there she was, six months pregnant, tears streaming down her face, at my door. She said she'd made a mistake, that she was sorry, that she loved me, and she begged me for another chance. She had this crumpled ultrasound picture. We were having a little girl." He looked up. "She was expecting a little girl, Sara, my little girl."

"And you believed her?"

"What, that the baby was mine or that she loved me?"

She shrugged and he gave her a forlorn nod of the head in reply to both her questions.

"So you took her back," she prompted when he once again lapsed into silence.

He raised a helpless shoulder. "What else could I do? Deep down I knew Rose was mine, Sara. I had no doubt. I'm a man of science. I did the calculations. Rose was something I'd made, created. She was a part of me. After I saw that first grainy picture of her I had no choice but take her back; I fell in love. I fell in love with the image of my beautiful baby daughter. She was perfect, Sara," he said, his voice choked with tears. "She was small but healthy and doing very well."

Sara nodded and he smiled sadly, looking away, his gaze turning distant, reminiscent. Her hand slipped through his and he waited until he was calmer to continue. "We did okay for a while," he went on, "but it wasn't the same as when we were in LA. It could never be the same again; her betrayal was always the white elephant in the room. I was just starting out as a CSI, so you know what it's like. I was working all the hours God sent and more, did all the overtime I could get my hands on. I was putting all the spare money aside, you know, for Rose, for when she came. Julia knew no one. She got bored, lonely. She wanted us to get married."

"And you didn't?"

He shook his head. "No. Not anymore. I couldn't do it, not even for Rose." He laughed emptily. "I realised I loved my unborn child more than I loved Julia. Without trust there can be no love, not for me anyway."

"What happened?" she prompted softly when he fell silent.

He shrugged, blinking back more tears. "One night we had a fight, another one. She was pushing for us to get married. I don't get angry very often, you know that, but when I do I blow." He let his words trail, turned his head and refocused a fearful gaze on Sara. "And that night I blew."

He dropped her hand and ran his hand through his hair and Sara pushed to her feet. He watched warily while she stretched and restlessly began pacing the small area in front of him, stopping and shielding her eyes from the sun to watch a couple of butterflies flutter nearby as they chased each other. He was trembling, shaking with fear that his confession would tarnish what she felt for him, that she'd love him less for knowing what he'd caused. Or worse, that she'd leave him.

Her gaze darkened suddenly and she snapped her head round to him, fixing distraught, incredulous eyes on him and he knew she'd filled in the blanks. Tears began to spill uncontrollably down her cheeks as she stared at him with disbelief, and he looked away shamefully.

"She died?" Sara's cry pierced right through him.

He opened his eyes, nodding. "She died, Sara. I killed her. I killed my Rose."

Sara could only watch him, her head shaking in disbelief and he pinched his lips, taking deep slow breaths through his nose, and made himself tell a story he'd never told anyone before, a story he'd taken great care to bury in the deepest, darkest recess of his heart.

"We were fighting," he said in an almost inaudible whisper. "I was shouting at her. She backed away from me and fell down a flight of stairs. I never touched her, Sara, you have got to know that," the words came out in a sob, his eyes clenching shut at the pain. "I would never-"

He didn't finish his sentence for as soon as his eyes reopened, Sara dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands falling to his face. She stared at him with so much love, tenderness, heartbreak and compassion that it was more than he could bear to look at and he pulled her to him sharply, burying his head in the crook of her neck as they cried for his loss.

"It was an accident, Gil," she cried softly into his hair, running her hand soothingly over his back. "It wasn't your fault."

"Oh, it was, Sara. It was." He pushed away from her. "Who else is to blame?"

"No one," she told him earnestly. "Not you."

He shook his head at her. "There was nothing I could do. I started it and I was powerless to stop it all from unfolding. The baby got distressed and Julia was rushed to hospital. She had to have an emergency caesarean. She was only thirty weeks pregnant at the time, Sara, and in those days it wasn't like now." A sad, wistful smile broke across his face. "She was so tiny when they got her out. So very small, but breathing, barely but she was breathing."

"What happened?" she asked when he stopped.

"They whisked her off immediately. Julia was out of it and it was all left to me. They put Rose in an incubator in the NICU; I stayed with her all night. I never left her side, not even to check on Julia." He paused, closing his eyes as the memories came flooding back, so vivid, so heart-breaking in their intensity. "She was so tiny, Sara," he repeated in an inaudible whisper. "The tip of my finger was too big to fit in her hand she was so small. Her lungs weren't fully formed yet, and she couldn't breathe. They did everything they could but…she didn't make it."

He reopened his eyes, and Sara reached for his hand clutching the bootie, and gripped it tight. "It wasn't your fault," she repeated.

"She died during the night," he continued in a small voice, forcing a smile, his eyes dry, out of tears. "Julia never got to see her, never held her while she was alive, but she never blamed me. She was my little girl, Sara, and I let her down. I couldn't protect her."

He tensed up suddenly and tugged his hand out of hers, backing away, folding back upon himself. Powerless to make his pain go away Sara could only blink back her own tears, watching wretchedly as he broke down. Her hands reached for him but he drew back from her, shaking his head miserably at her offer of comfort.

"There's no point pushing me away this time, Gil," Sara said, her voice full of tears as she put her arms around him and held him to her with force, "or shut me out because I'm not going anywhere." She pulled away and dipped her head, searching his gaze and holding it meaningfully. "You'll get through this, do you hear me? We'll get through this together."


	18. Chapter 18

Grissom closed his eyes, his head shaking at her words. How could he ever get over the loss of Rose, his child, his own flesh and bone, his future that never was? A child he had loved so very much but never gotten the chance to see grow. A child he'd watched gasp for every breath but been powerless to save and protect. More tears spilled and he felt Sara shift as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She let out a long breath into his hair and silently held him to her for a long moment.

"I know you're in pain," she murmured as she pressed her lips to his temple, "and I know you think the pain will never leave you but-"

"I don't want the pain to ever leave me Sara," he gasped, pushing back from her and meeting her eyes. A rough hand came up to wipe at his eyes. "That's all I have left of Rose, my pain and my guilt."

Sara gave him a slow shake of the head, saying softly, "Then we need to change that."

He frowned at her words and a soft, compassionate smile to her lips Sara held out her hand to him. His eyes flicked downward toward it and he stared blindly at it for a long time before lifting sad, watery eyes back at her.

"I don't deserve your sympathy, Sara," he said in a whisper. "I don't want it."

Sara's eyes were tender and sad, her smile wavering at his pain. "This is not sympathy, Gil. This is love. A love based on trust. I know you never meant for Rose to die. It was a tragic accident Gil, one you're not to blame for. I want to help you. Please, let me help you."

She offered her hand to him again but still unable to accept her support or her words for the truth he looked away. Sara's hand lifted to his chin and gently coaxed his face round to her. She caught his eye and smiled, her fingers gently stroking the side of his face. Instinctively, he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.

"If anything," she continued softly, "I love you more for it, for what you've shared with me, for telling me about Rose and finally opening up to me." His eyes reopened, meeting hers uncertainly. She gave him a smile. "You've let me into your heart, Gil and it's the first time you ever do that."

His lips pursed in a wan smile and he nodded before suddenly reaching out and pulling her to him. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I am so sorry."

"I know you are," she repeated as she stroked gentle fingers through his hair comfortingly. "I know you are."

His eyes closed as a wave of relief and gratitude washed over him and he finally allowed Sara's touch to soothe him.

Unexpectedly her chest shook with a giggle and she said, "We make a right pair, don't we?"

His lips formed into a smile as he understood that she was referring to her own past and he squeezed her to him. Taking in a deep breath, he brushed his lips to her hair and whispered a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Sara pushed back from him and framing his face with her hands looked at him intently. Smiling, she stroked her thumbs over the dark circles under his eyes, drying the last of his tears. "I did nothing."

"Oh, you did. You're doing it now. You're here. You're listening."

"You were there for me-"

"You're not judging," he cut in with a small lift of his shoulder.

"There is nothing to judge," she insisted. She watched him meaningfully for a moment before leaning across to brush her lips gently over his. "I love you, Gil and that means that I'm here for you, always. We'll get through this, I promise."

He nodded and his hands flying to the back of her head pulled her to him. His head burrowed into the crook of her neck, his nodding becoming more vigorous, more definite.

"What I don't understand," she added when he released her, "is why you were afraid to tell me. Did you think I'd think less of you if I knew what had happened? Did you think I'd love you less?"

"I almost told you once," he said with a shrug. "I drove to your apartment and sat in my car in the lot, head slumped over the steering wheel, but I couldn't."

"But why? Why didn't you come up?"

"I wasn't ready. It was easier to keep the pain locked away than face up to it." His shoulder lifted again. "I'm not proud of what happened, Sara, and I don't like to think about it, let alone talk about it. That day, I lost more than a child. I lost a part of me."

"You did," she acknowledged quietly. "You were a father, and then you weren't any more." She paused and let out a small breath before continuing hesitantly, "But more importantly I don't think you ever gave yourself the chance to grieve."

His gaze flicked down abruptly.

"Allowing yourself to grieve for the loss of your child," she went on, her voice soft and loving, "even after all these years, doesn't mean that you'll forget Rose. It doesn't mean that you will love her less. It just means that you'll allow yourself to think about her without breaking apart every time you do." He looked up suddenly and Sara raised her shoulder. "That you won't break apart inside every time we have to investigate the death of a baby."

Dropping his gaze he gave a nod of his head at her words.

Her hand lifted to his face as she added, "We've all noticed how those cases affect you. Does Catherine know about Rose?"

"God, no," he replied, a look of fear crossing his eyes. "And I don't want her to either, or anyone else. Only you know, and I want it to remain so."

Stroking her hand to his cheek Sara gave him a solemn nod of the head before averting her gaze to his lap.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing her hesitation.

Lifting her eyes back up to his, she let out a long sigh. "I don't know Julia at all. I only know what you've told me of her, but it seems to me that her desperate attempt at…" she took a breath, opening her hand at him as she searched for the right words, "winning you back is born out of her grief." Grissom's gaze lowered. "I think, like you, she never got over the loss of Rose. I think that all her life she's probably tried to fill that void, and never succeeded. She lost more than her child that day, she lost you too and I don't think she ever got closure for either. You say you didn't love her anymore because of what she did to you and your relationship, but how did _she_ feel?"

He pondered her question for a moment before lifting an uncertain shoulder. "I don't know."

"Have you met Rosie?"

His brow furrowed with puzzlement. "Rosie?" he repeated, unsure of her change of tack.

"Julia's daughter, the girl on the photograph. Do you know her?"

He nodded at her, a wistful smile lighting his face. "She's beautiful, very bright, talented. She's in med school."

"She's not deaf?"

He shook his head. "Julia's deafness isn't genetic, Sara."

"What about Robert?"

"Ah, Robert." Grissom let out a long breath. "Robert's quite a bit older than Julia. He's hearing, but he signs, like me."

"Have you ever wondered why she decided to call her daughter Rosie?"

He shrugged. "I figure it was so she wouldn't forget Rose."

"I don't think it is," she replied softly. "I don't think she could ever forget. Rather, I think that that was her way of having, of keeping Rose in her life, close-by, as a part of her new family."

Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked then away, shrugging again. "I don't know, maybe. All I know is that Julia thinks the world of Rosie. She's very proud of her, and they're very close. Why are you asking?"

Sara gave him a look and a smile that said, _bear with me_. "What happened to Julia afterwards? After Rose…died," she said, the word a quiet whisper out of her mouth.

Grissom's eyes averted almost shamefully. He ran a tired hand over his face and sighed. "We split up and she came back home and stayed with her mother for a few months, and then she went back to LA. I knew this from my mother, of course, I never kept in touch with her. She promised me she'd never tell my mother about Rose and she never did."

"Why not?"

He shrugged but didn't reply. "A couple of years later, I heard after the fact that she'd gotten married to Robert. My mother was invited to the wedding, I wasn't, not that I would have gone if I had been. A year or so after that, she had Paul and then Rosie came. And all this time my mother's believed that I broke off the engagement because I had cold feet."

Sara was watching him with puzzlement. "And where is Rose now?" she asked. "Where was she…buried?"

His face hardened, and he shook his head. "We didn't…have her buried. I-I-She was cremated." To her increasingly bewildered expression he added, "I never thought of having her baptised, Sara, when she was alive and by the time Julia came round it was too late."

Sara took a moment to make sense of his words. "Surely, your mother would have-"

"My mother knew nothing about it," he cut in impatiently. Pausing, he took a breath and lowered his hand to her leg, patting it softly in apology for his outburst. "She never knew Julia was pregnant," he went on more calmly, "and she never knew we lost the baby. At first Julia wore baggy clothes and then we were in Minnesota. My mother never knew, Sara, we never told her. I could never bring myself to tell her. Even afterwards."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"She'd have understood," Sara insisted. "She would have helped you, been there for you."

He shrugged. "It was easier that way. I saved her – and myself – a lot of pain."

"On the contrary Gil, she'd have helped you _deal _with your pain."

He shrugged and looked away.

There was a pause and Sara let out a short breath. "So she never knew she was a grandmother?" There was no reproach in her voice, just surprise.

"No," he replied, refocusing his eyes on her, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was narrowed, distant, lost in thought. "Why?"

"I'm not so sure, Gil," she said, turning to look at him. "Her knowing would certainly explain all the questions about babies and the pain in her eyes as she stared at Rosie's photograph."

He nodded quietly. "You're right. I didn't know it until today but she did know about it."

"Julia?"

"No, she never broke her promise. Her mother did, before she died."

Sara registered a look of shock. "Your mother's known for five years that you had a daughter, a daughter that died, and she never talked to you about it? Asked you about it?"

Shrugging, he shook his head slowly. "The apple never falls far from the tree, I guess."

Sara raised her hands in the air in a helpless gesture. "I don't get it."

"Don't judge her too hard. It's not her fault. I'm sure she tried but," he let out a quiet chuckle, "well, you know exactly what I'm like."

A knowing smile tugging at her lips she nodded. After a moment in silence she gathered her bag and sandals, and got to her feet. Holding out her hand to him she said, "Come on. Let's go for a walk. Take me to the beach. Show me round your favourite places. We can talk, or not, it's up to you."

He looked up toward her, flashed her a magnificent grin and reached out his hand, allowing her to help him up to his feet. Keeping hold of her hand he gently reeled her to him, tilting his head for a kiss. Their lips met and he dropped her hand, raising his to frame her face as he deepened the kiss.

Their walk was a silent and introspective one, each lost to their own thoughts. They were just reaching the marina when Sara asked, "Do you want to head back to Vegas tonight?"

Grissom stopped walking. "You?"

She turned back toward him. "No."

He smiled. "Me neither. I think I need to have a chat with my mother. I think I owe her that much after all this time."

Sara nodded. "I'm glad. I'm glad you feel this way. I'll walk back to the house with you and then give you some space. I've a couple of calls from Phoenix to make anyway."

A mischievous smiled tugged at his lips. "Enjoying your conference, Miss Sidle?"

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," she replied solemnly.

He burst out in a quiet chuckle. "Catherine was quite surprised when I told her I was going on _vacation_ and that she was boss."

"I'd hardly call two nights off, a vacation, Gil."

"She asked me if I was having another operation." He laughed and gripping her hand tightly resumed their slow wander. "Despite what happened today I'm glad we came," he said after a while. "I'm glad I brought you home to meet my mother. I'm glad you're here with me."

Turning toward him Sara gave him a shy smile and nodded. The late afternoon sun was beating down on their heads as they strolled hand in hand onto the jetty. Boats of all sizes and prices bobbed up and down as Grissom led the way to the end. Stopping he draped his arm around her shoulder and they stood side by side, watching as a small sailing boat departed out to sea.

After a moment Sara said, "Do you ever wonder what it would be like to just leave it all behind and take a boat out and see where it takes you?"

Grissom thought about her question but before he could reply a hesitant male voice called, "Gil? Gil Grissom?"

Tensing, he turned with a start.

"It _is_ you!" the man said with disbelief. Dropping the rope he was holding a tall, balding, middle-aged man wearing Bermuda shorts, an open shirt and deck shoes jumped off his boat onto the jetty toward them and shielding his eyes from the sun offered Grissom and Sara a wide grin.

Grissom relaxed. "Frankie Thompson."

"The one and only," Frank replied, laughing as he extended his hand, which Grissom shook warmly. "How are you doing, buddy?"

"I'm good," Grissom replied. "I'm good." He turned toward Sara who despite the intrigued look on her face was sporting a wide grin. "Sara," he said, "meet Frank Thompson. Frankie, this is Sara, my girlfriend."

Frank gave Sara an appraising look. "Nice to meet you, Sara," he said.

"And you," she replied, smiling pleasantly.

"Frank and I were science buddies in high school," Grissom told her.

Frank burst out laughing. "_Forced_ science buddies I think you'll find," he amended lightly, his eyes lingering on Sara a tad too long. "I was flunking science and Gil got me through my finals."

"At a price," Grissom piped in.

Frank laughed. "Indeed." He suppressed a fake shiver. "Those experiments of yours certainly didn't come cheap."

"How's Nicole?"

"She's good. She's coming up tomorrow morning with Tamara."

"Dad?" came a young male voice from inside the boat.

Frank looked over his shoulder. "Just a second!" he called back, and then to Sara he explained, "My son. We're going night fishing, a little father/son bonding."

Grissom nodded. "We'll leave you to it, then."

"Nice meeting you, Sara," Frank said, "and you too, Gil." Backing away onto the boat he gave them a wave, and then stopped. "Listen, Gil, we're having a barbecue tomorrow lunchtime. A few friends and the family. Want to come along?" His eyes flicked to Sara. "You too Sara, of course. I know Nicole would love to catch up."

Grissom shared a look with Sara. "Sorry," he said, "but we're headed back to Vegas tomorrow."

"Some other time maybe," Sara said.

"I'll hold you to that," Frank said, waving again as he disappeared inside the boat.

Sara turned toward Grissom. "He seems nice. I liked him."

Grissom hummed. "I think he liked you too."

Sara's giggled filled the air. "Jealous?"

Grasping her hand he pulled her to him and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. His lips lingered on her skin as he replied, "No." When he pulled back Sara's lips were twitching with amusement and he grinned at her. "Okay," he admitted, "a little maybe."

Laughing Sara brushed her hand along his jawline and her lips over his. "Good," she said pulling back and winking.

His mouth pursed in mock annoyance. "He married a girl I used to date," he stated casually, wanting to get one over on her.

"When? Back in the day?" she asked, teasingly.

"No. Earlier than that."

Sara's gaze narrowed. "Nicole," she said musingly. Her eyes widened. "_The_ Nicole?" she asked with astonishment, a wide grin breaking across her face. "Nicole Daley?"

Grinning, he nodded. "The one and only." Hand in hand, they set off at a slow meandering pace. "I was guest speaker at a school reunion back in 1999-"

"And you went?" she cut in with disbelief.

He screwed his face at her. "I wasn't given the choice. Nicole asked me, personally, she was organising the reunion. Anyway, I never knew until then that she and Frank had gotten married."

Sara stopped walking and turned toward him. "You know," she said, "We could go to their barbecue if you want to, for a little while anyway, before we'd need to leave."

He shook his head with a smile. "Thank you, but no. That's what Catherine was calling about. She needs me back for a meeting Conrad's set up before shift tomorrow. Lindsey's got a dance thing or other that she can't miss and I promised her I'd be there."

"Shame. I was looking forward to meeting the infamous Nicole Daley."

He laughed. "As I'm sure she will be with you when she hears Frank saw us - _you_ - here today." They got off the jetty and were setting off down the high street when Grissom said, "Oh, and Sara? To answer your question earlier: no, I never think of leaving it all. Despite everything I love my life." He held her gaze, smiling softly as he added, "I love my work and I love you."


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Only one more chapter after this one, I'm afraid, I hope you like it. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always.

* * *

They leisurely strolled their way back to the house, laughing as Grissom regaled Sara with a few of the more outrageous science experiment he'd partaken in during high school. He'd never been elected president of the science club but he'd certainly been its most fervent member. He felt lighter for sharing his dark past with Sara, more connected and in tune with her, like a veil had been lifted and the pretence was over, and now he found himself telling her things about himself he'd long forgotten, snippets of his past he thought mundane and unimportant. The absolute look of adoration in her eyes as she drank his words told him otherwise.

They reached the house and Grissom stopped next to where the Mercedes was parked. He looked up and slowly scanned fresh eyes over the building noticing for the first time its true state of disrepair. "I'm going to miss this place when my mother moves," he mused with a sigh.

Sara's fingers curled tighter around his. "I'm sure she's not making the decision lightly."

He gave her a slow nod of the head in reply. "Come on," he said tugging her hand forward, "she'll be in the backyard." He reached over the top of the side gate to undo the latch and pushed it open, leading Sara along the stone path to the back of the house.

Pulling him to a stop, Sara pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll leave you two to it," she said, indicating the bottom of the garden with her head.

Following her gaze Grissom caught sight of his mother digging the flowerbeds, and nodded. "Thank you," he said with a smile.

Her returning smile was as gentle as his had been grateful. "You're going to be okay?"

He lifted an uncertain shoulder, but then smiled wider, nodding vigorously. "I'm a grown man. I can do this. I should have done this years ago."

Sara's hand rose to his shoulder and she patted it. "I'll be inside when you've finished."

Her hand moving to his face she leaned over and they kissed. With one last smile Sara turned and he watched as she made her way indoors through the back door. Refocusing his attention on his mother he let out a long breath and gave himself a nod of the head before striding decisively toward her. She had gotten changed into her old gardening clothes and a fond smile formed on his lips on noticing the old straw hat she'd put on.

As soon as his shadow entered her field of vision Betty looked up and round. She raised her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun and a wide pleasurable smile broke across her face.

"The yard looks wonderful," he signed, smiling back at her.

The smile left her lips suddenly and she straightened up, her eyes meeting her son's sorrowfully. They both knew the time for explanations had come. Grissom's smile wavered and after putting down her digging fork Betty wordlessly closed the distance between them and opened her arms out to him. His face took on a pained expression and they fell into a hug, each clasping the other one tightly. Grissom's eyes closed and he let out a long, long weary breath.

After a long moment she stepped back from him and stroked her hand to his cheek. "I'm so sorry, love," she signed, the look on her face apologetic. "I shouldn't have waited until today to tell you about my plans. But you got to be honest with me, son. Would you be genuinely happy if I decided to move permanently to Vegas? Or did Sara put those words into your mouth?"

"No," he smiled softly, "she didn't. It's just that Sara sometimes – often – voices my thoughts better than I can. I'm just sorry you felt you needed Julia here to tell me."

Sighing, Betty averted her eyes. "I know." Refocusing on her son she added, "I'm sorry about what happened before...in the kitchen when you two were talking. I never thought she'd try anything like…_that_."

"You saw?" he signed, a look of shock crossing his eyes.

She nodded and shrugged. "I'm sorry if you feel I've spoilt your weekend because of it, and Sara's first visit here too. It certainly wasn't my intention."

"I know," he signed back slowly, mustering a small smile. "I know. Sara's okay," he added more convincingly after noticing his mother's lingering uncertainty. He shrugged, "She…enjoyed looking at the old photos with you." He tried a wider smile but flicked his gaze down to his feet uneasily, unsure on how best to start telling his mother about Rose.

Betty moved her hands and he refocused. "Where is Sara now?" she asked him.

"She's gone in," he replied.

"She's making herself scarce," his mother rephrased knowingly.

He chuckled before acknowledging her comment with a small nod, his eyes moving to a point above her shoulder as he searched for the right words.

Betty took his hand in hers, signing with her free one, "Come; let's go sit down."

Nodding his head sombrely he gave her a grateful smile, and they made their way to the stone bench nearby. Removing her gardening gloves and tossing them on the bench, Betty sat down, and Grissom hesitantly followed suit.

Looking up to the blue sky, he blew out a short breath and made himself look his mother in the eye as he signed, "Mom, there's something you need to know about me and Julia. Something I should have been brave enough to tell you twenty-five years ago."

Betty's face fell and she closed her eyes warily, causing Grissom to drop his hands uncertainly. "I knew something had happened," she began, her hand moving quickly. "You changed. You took off for Minneapolis so suddenly, practically overnight, and the next time I saw you, all those long months later, you looked dreadful. You weren't a boy anymore, you were a man, a man that had grown overnight. I thought it was because of Julia and what she had done, of her and Robert but-"

"You knew about that?" he asked, unable to disguise his shock at the news.

She nodded. "I did – afterwards anyway. Did you honestly think that I'd buy your line of…getting cold feet?" She gave a small laugh. "When you left, Julia was in a bad way. She was unhappy, depressed. Connie convinced her to come home. She wasn't sleeping, eating properly, or going out. She didn't want to do anything. Connie was worried about her, so very worried but she wouldn't open up, to either of us. She spent a lot of time in bed, moping, crying." Betty paused, giving him time to interject if he wanted to and when he didn't she sighed, adding, "Anyway, in the end I gave her your address and when she didn't come back to us we thought you'd patched things up."

"We did. For a while."

There was another pause and they both flicked their eyes down to their laps at the same time, as though both wanting to say something but waiting for the other one to say it first.

Taking the initiative, Grissom looked up decisively and raised his hands, his fingers twitching restlessly, his lips pinching nervously. "Mom, I…"

Covering his hands with hers, she met his eye. Hers shone with a film of tears. "I know, Gil. I know about the baby."

Tears filled his eyes and he looked away.

Betty coaxed his face round gently and smiled. "Connie told me before she died."

Nodding, he swallowed and ran an anxious hand through his hair.

"I've wanted to talk to you about it so many times, Gil," Betty went on quickly before he could interrupt her, "but I could never find the words." She blinked her tears away. "You shouldn't have had to go through all that by yourself. I'm sorry you couldn't come to me for comfort. I wish I'd-"

"No," he cut in out loud and she paused. "It's not your fault," he continued with his hands, lifting a sorrowful shoulder. "I should have been the one to tell you, not Connie. I'm sorry I could never find it in me to tell you about Rose."

She wiped a shaky hand over her eyes, and swallowed. "Rose?" she signed, her face looking a mixture of pain, shock and excitement. Her gaze veered toward her beloved rose bushes. "You called your little girl, Rose?"

"You didn't know?" To her slow shake of the head he added, his shoulder rising again in a helpless gesture, "After grandma. She was _my_ Rose, mom, and I never saw her grow."

Betty's lips quivered and she brought a hand to her mouth. "Is that why you've had a rose bush sent to me every mother's day since?" she asked, the emotion filling her face overwhelming. "So I could see Rose grow? So I could grow her for you?"

His eyes filled again, and his only reply was to lift a pitiful shoulder.

"And you carried all this in your heart all these years? Oh, Gil-" Pinching her lips Betty waved him to her and he fell into her arms. "I'm so sorry, Gil," she signed when he pulled back from her.

He wiped his eyes. "It's not your fault."

Betty's smile was fond and tender and very sad. Her hand lifted to his face and she gently patted his cheek. Grissom's eyes drifted shut as a wave of relief that his mother finally knew washed over him. Her deep sigh caused him to refocus.

"Now I understand about Rosie," she mused, and he agreed with a small nod of his head. There was a pause and Betty watched her son intently for a moment before signing, "You're a good man, Gil, and a good son, but I wish you had told me." Her eyes flitting toward the house she added, "Does Sara know?"

He nodded. "I told her today."

"She's lucky to have you."

"No," he smiled. "I'm lucky to have her."

Betty gave him a thoughtful nod. "I-I moved her bag into your room."

"Thank you."

"I should have done that in the first place," she shrugged apologetically.

An easy smile played around the edges of his mouth. "It's okay. It's not like I ever set a precedent."

"No," she laughed. "But it's about time you did."

His face took on a solemn expression. "You know," he went on, "Sara and I haven't spent the night apart – not an _entire_ night apart – for almost a year now, her place or mine it doesn't matter. We always make sure we know where the other one's at."

"I understand." Her lips formed into a mischievous smile as she asked, "How come you're not living together then, since you can't stand to be apart from each other even for one night?"

His mouth twisted in thought. "Work is an issue. Besides, I don't think Sara's quite ready for that yet."

"Sara?" Betty signed with surprise. "Not you?"

Laughing he gave her a gentle shake of the head. "No. A few weeks back, I asked her to, you know, move into the condo permanently rather than this toing and froing we do but…well, she values her space as much as I do mine."

Grissom's admission took his mother by surprise and she pursed her face thoughtfully before saying, "Well, maybe you need a bigger place, one with enough space for the two of you." Grissom's brow rose at the suggestion. "I think you should ask her again. I've a feeling that after this visit she might be ready."

"I don't know," he replied a little self-consciously. "I don't want to rush her. We're happy as we are," he signed, a wistful smile on his lips.

She nodded. "I can see that, and I'm glad for you. I'm glad you could find your special someone. Sara's good for you," she added earnestly. "She understands you in a way a lot of people don't, me included." Her smile widened and she tapped her index finger on his chest. "It takes someone special to have broken through this tough exterior."

A smiled curled his lip. "I'm not tough."

"You know what I mean," she signed fondly.

"Yeah, I do."

A companionable silence settled over the two, and Grissom's eyes flickered toward the house as he wondered what Sara was doing now. His mother's long exhale of breath soon broke the silence and he turned a perplexed look toward her. Hesitant hands twitching in mid-air she finally met his eye.

"I'd like to do something for you, Gil," she signed. "For you and Julia. Will you let me?"

He watched her uncertainly for a moment before flicking his eyes downward and nodding.

"When Connie…when Connie first told me about…Rose, I told Father Francis – in confession of course," she added quickly when he snapped darkened, narrowed eyes up to hers. "It was too much to keep to myself," she defended, a look of pain crossing her face. "I couldn't help blaming myself for…letting you down."

"You?" he signed with surprise.

"Hear me out. Please." She paused. "Maybe if you – and Julia – hadn't felt pressured to get married because of the baby, she wouldn't have cheated on you and you wouldn't have moved away and-"

"We'd have still broken up, Mom, Julia was never the one for me."

"Maybe, but Rose would most certainly still be alive."

He looked down, nodding.

She lowered her hands to his eye line. "I would like to have a mass celebrated for her, here at St Michael's." He looked up suddenly. "A remembrance service, a blessing type thing. On her birthday." She smiled diffidently. "Would you come?"

Grissom's eyes flicked toward the house again and he caught Sara watching from an upstairs window. The worry lines on her face vanished instantly, replaced by one of her most endearing grins. She raised her hand to him in a small wave and he smiled back at her with all the love and tenderness he possessed.

Betty followed his gaze and motioned at Sara to come out and join them. Redirecting his smile onto his mother he wordlessly thanked her with his eyes for her gesture, and watched her for a moment, thinking her suggestion over before nodding his reply and lifting a flat hand to his chin and bringing it out.

"I think I'd like that very much," he told her quietly, leaning across to kiss her on the cheek. "You know who I saw today?" he asked with his hands when he pulled back, adding when Betty shook her head, "You remember Frankie Thompson?"

Betty's eyes narrowed in thought for a moment before lighting up suddenly. "I saw Nicole in town, six months ago maybe?" she signed, her eyes widening suddenly, almost gleefully. "You want the ring, don't you? You grandmother's ring? For Sara?"

He shrugged a small, sheepish shoulder. "I don't know. I'm thinking about it."

The back door opened and shut, and Grissom redirected his attention toward Sara walking down the stone path toward them. A loving smile spread across his face. "Not a word to Sara, please," he signed quickly to his mother. "If I'm going to do this, I need to do it my own way, in my own time. I just wanted to be sure I could have the ring if ever I needed it."

Betty brought her finger to her lips. "My lips are sealed."

Sara's hand fell to his shoulder and he turned toward her, asking, "Everything okay?"

Smiling she nodded. "Greg misses me."

Grissom made a face at her and shuffling along the bench pulled her down by the hand so she could sit next to him. "Let's go eat out tonight," he told her unexpectedly, keeping hold of her hand.

"We can't."

"Why not?"

Sara's smile tensed. "Your mother will have got stuff in for dinner," she said quickly under her breath before casting a wary smile at Betty who was watching the exchange with interest.

Grissom turned on the bench. "You don't mind if I take Sara out tonight, do you?" quick fingers asked his mother. "I want to take her to that fish bar in Fisherman's village."

Her eyes shining mischievously Betty watched her son's face intently before shaking her head in reply. "Not at all."

"See?" he said, turning back toward Sara. "I told you. I know this place that makes the most delicious calamari."

Her eyes on Betty Sara raised her hands. "Would you like to come with us?"

A look of intense pleasure filled Betty's face and she reached across Grissom for Sara's hand, gripping it tightly. His face lit up with pleasure as he watched the two most important women in his life finally begin to bond.

Movement near the house caught his attention and he froze, the smile vanishing from his lips. Julia was standing there, clutching her purse tightly as she watched the scene uncertainly. She slipped her sunglasses off and returned his stare, sad eyes pleading with him for a chance to talk.

Grissom threw Sara a fearful glance and she smiled at him, her eyes flicking toward Julia. "Go make peace," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It is time."


	20. Chapter 20

Grissom walked up the stone path toward Julia, acutely aware of the pair of eyes following his slow progress. Julia's red-rimmed eyes hardly made contact with his as she pinched her lips into a tight, pained smile as she fearfully watched him approach. Her lip wobbled and it was clear she was barely keeping it together.

"Let's go inside," he signed as he reached her side. Julia nodded and he waited until she'd gone in to turn and give Sara and his mother a small smile. Both women's faces lit up at the same time, their frown lines softening, and Sara gave him a nod of the head encouragingly. Taking in a deep breath he made his way inside.

Julia was at the sink, splashing cold water over her face, when he entered and he wordlessly took a seat at the kitchen table. Julia fumbled for a tissue in her purse and looking out through the window dabbed at her face and eyes. His gaze followed hers and he saw Betty and Sara in the yard talking animatedly. A soft smile formed on his lips.

Julia turned round and he slowly refocused on her. "Are you serious about her?" she asked him, looking sad and dejected.

He gave her a short confident nod of the head. "Yeah, very."

Sighing, she pursed her face. "You're going to marry her?" Grissom gave her a non-committal shrug and she looked down to her left hand, and the bare ring finger on it. "You're going to give her the ring?" she continued, looking up, unable to hide the look of regret from her features.

Grissom's raise of the shoulder caused her eyes to fill with tears but she didn't look away. He made to reach out to her, but changed his mind, his fingers curling back nervously as his hands dropped to his lap. He let out a breath and held her gaze as his hands once more lifted.

"The way I see it," he signed, "you and I were never meant to be."

Blinking back tears, Julia swallowed and slumped down on a chair across from him.

He continued. "When Rose died, I-I…" His eyes flicked down, his lips pinching with anguish but he made himself look up. "Her death changed me, Julia, _fundamentally_ changed me. There was a shift as to who I became. Your betrayal did too. I don't think I will ever have any more children, but now I know I can love again. It took me until now to be able to trust a woman again, to trust her fully, implicitly, intimately. I have that with Sara."

Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes. "I'm happy for you," she signed after a while.

Her reply took him completely by surprise. "You are?"

She lifted a desolate shoulder. "Yeah. I'm sorry about…what I did before. I don't know what came over me. I-I shouldn't have kissed you." She blew out a deep breath. "It was totally-"

"Sara thinks that you kissed me because even after all these years you're still trying to fill the void Rose's death created in your heart."

Julia's eyes widened at the candour of his word. "You told her?"

"About the kiss, or about Rose?"

"Both, I guess."

"I didn't need to tell her about the kiss, no. She saw it."

"And she's not mad?"

He gave her a shake of the head. "She trusts me. My mother saw it too."

"I know. She…had words with me. I'm truly sorry, Gil."

"Sara thinks you – we," he amended with a sigh, "never properly gave ourselves the chance to grieve over losing Rose." Julia's eye averted. "And I don't know how to even start doing that. But my mother wants to hold a mass for her at St Michael, to celebrate her life – however short it was – on her birthday."

Tears welled in Julia's eyes, and she nodded.

"I told her I'd be there," he went on quietly, "and I would like for you to come too."

Registering a look of shock, Julia wiped at her eyes with the cuff of her jacket. "You would? After everything I've done to you? Why?"

"You're her mother," he stated simply.

Swallowing she looked down and nodded. She remained still for a long time, her eyes averted to the floor, then reached for her bag on the table and took out her purse. She popped it open and unzipped the inner compartment, hesitantly removing a folded piece of paper. Carefully, reverently even, she unfolded it.

Catching sight of the faded colour picture, the breath caught in his throat, and he flicked watery eyes away. It was the picture of him cradling a tiny Rose in his arms a few hours before she died. He was looking down at the infant in his arms hooked up to brightly coloured tubes, wires and electrodes, with utter devotion. She wore the yellow woollen booties and hat set his grandmother had knitted for him. He smiled as he recalled how large they were on her. He could remember as though it was yesterday the exact moment the nurse had depressed the shutter.

Rose's hospital wristband fell out onto the table. On it, a name and a date: Baby Grissom; May, third 1980. Tears he was desperately trying to keep at bay fell. Julia's shakily picked up the band and lovingly ran a finger over it before lifting the band and sad watery eyes at him. He watched her uncertainly for a moment before reaching across the table for it. He closed his eyes and let the wave of pain wash over him. When his eyes reopened Julia had tears flowing down her face.

"I want to keep the photograph, but I want you to have this," she signed, motioning to the band in his hands.

He blinked. "I didn't know you'd kept them."

She shrugged. "They're all I have left of Rose, and you."

He nodded and closed his fist over the band, signing with his free hand, "Thank you."

She mustered a quivering smile, and shrugged. "Vegas is a fresh start for me," she signed, getting to her feet, "and I hope we don't have to be…enemies."

Nodding, he rose up and they stood awkwardly facing each other for a moment. Grissom couldn't tell who made the first move, but now as he held Julia into his arms he wasn't embracing the woman who had broken his heart, but instead the mother of his child. He held her and let her cry until she had cried out. Only then did she push away from him, wiped her face and smiled.

"I hope you've found happiness with Sara," she sighed, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she meant her words. "I truly do."

He gave her a serious nod. "I have. And I hope you can find that too. In time."

* * *

"Thank you," Betty signed as they came out of the fish bar, "I had a lovely time." Smiling widely, she grasped Sara's hands and squeezed them fondly before reaching up to kiss her son on the cheek. "I'm going to leave you two now, so you can enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Let us walk you home," Grissom offered.

"That's not necessary," she signed, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's a nice night, besides crime isn't what it is in Vegas."

Grissom pursed his face at her. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. Have you got your key?"

His eyes shining with amusement Grissom patted his back pocket. "I do." Beaming, he pulled Sara to him and kissed her on the cheek.

Betty smiled pleasurably. "All right, then," she signed, mischief crossing her eyes. "Take your time, I won't wait up." She stared at her son a moment longer and with a flicker of her eyes toward Sara signed, "Ask her."

Casting a furtive glance toward Sara Grissom pursed his face at his mother. "Good night, mother," he signed deliberately.

With one final smile and a small wave of her hand Betty turned on her heels and clutching her purse to her, set off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk.

Frowning, Sara did a double take. "I don't mind walking back with her if you'd rather."

"No," he laughed. "It's a fifteen minute walk back at the most. Besides she's quite used to doing this on her own." He shuffled round until he faced her, reached a hand to her face and smiled tenderly. "I told you she'd love you, didn't I?"

Sara's smile was wide and pleasurable. "You did. I'm glad though; it's important to me that she does."

Grissom nodded and his thumb brushing across her cheek leaned across for a kiss. "I wish we could do this at home," he told her pulling back, "going out, being a couple without having to worry that we might get seen."

Sara raised a mild shoulder. "I would rather hide and keep us a secret than not have what we have." She raised her hand to his face and cupped it. "_This_ is plenty enough for me, Gil."

He stared at her intently for a moment before nodding. Pinching his lips and glancing beyond her shoulder he inhaled a long breath through his nose before refocusing on her. She was watching him with questions in her eyes and he shrugged, his thoughts once again remaining unspoken.

Wordlessly, he took her hand and they leisurely set off down the sidewalk. Turning toward her and opting for a casual tone he said, "You know like…a few weeks back I-" Shaking his head he paused, and sighed.

"You-" she prompted, her brow furrowing.

His shoulder rose. "I suggested that maybe you could move with me into the condo-"

"Gil," Sara cut in.

"Hear me out, please," he said earnestly. "I get that the condo's too small for the two of us, as is your apartment. But I've been thinking that maybe we could, you know, get a bigger place." He paused and smiled, adding hesitantly, "Together."

"What, like renting somewhere else?"

"Or buying," he said in a quiet whisper.

Sara stopped in her tracks, and he turned. Shock was written all over her face. "You're serious?"

"About you, yeah."

Sara looked away toward the passing traffic. "I don't know," she said after a moment.

He leaned across to catch her eye. "Why not?"

"Work, for starters," she replied, meeting his eyes. She shrugged. "What if Brass comes round with his bottle of whisky after a tough case, as he often does, and finds all my things there?"

"Then we'd tell him."

"Catherine too?" she asked challengingly. "And Nick, and Greg, and Warr-"

"Sara," Grissom cut in with an impatient sigh. "I'm ready. I'm prepared to take the chance. If you're not that's fine; we stay as we are. But if you're only worried about work, then-"

"Gil, I'm not just worried about work finding out. I'm worried about _you_, about _Ecklie_ finding out. You have a lot more to lose than I do."

"Ecklie wouldn't fire me."

"Are you sure about that? What about if he decided to split us up instead? Not the team, but you and me. Have us work different shifts. Or worse give me the sack. You know the rule and we'd be breaking it. Big time."

"We already _are_ breaking it."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

"It'd be worth the risk," he said quietly.

She sighed. "We see so little of each other as it is. I couldn't stand it if we had to work different shifts. It was bad enough when the guys had to do it."

"Then we'll have to be careful," he said decisively. "I'm good at keeping secrets, and so are you. I can talk to Jim. Make sure I get to his with my bottle of scotch before he comes to mine. _Ours_," he amended with a soft smile and a squeeze of her hand.

Sara's free hand moved to his cheek and she stared into his eyes. "You really want this, don't you?"

His nod was resolute. "Yeah, I do."

A wide grin broke across her face. "Then let's do it."

"Yeah?" he asked, shiny eyes widening with disbelief that she'd accepted.

"Yeah," she repeated quietly. She smiled and they leaned toward each other, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss.

Raucous laughter erupted nearby, cutting short their little tête-a-tête. Grissom frowned, his head turning toward the sound, and noticing a large group of young people heading toward them tightened his grip around Sara's hand, waiting until a car had driven past to lead her across the road. He was smiling broadly.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked as they reached the other side, headed toward the Marina. "Let's go for a drink," he added without pausing for breath. "I know this place on the ocean front that-"

"No," she told him firmly.

Her tone of voice and intensity of her reply took him by surprise and he snapped his head round toward her with puzzlement. A roguish smile pulling at her lips Sara dropped his hand and linked her arm through his, leaning into him as they strolled. He felt her skin against his, and a rush of desire rose in him.

Stopping walking abruptly he turned toward her. His breath hitched, his eyes darkening as they bored into hers. His hands coming up to her face, he kissed her, softly at first and then more passionately. His fingers weaved into her hair, pulling strands out of the barrette loosely holding her hair up at the back, and their lips met with force as he shamelessly deepened the kiss muffling Sara's low moan of pleasure into his mouth.

Her hands slid under his shirt, stroked up his waist to his chest, to his back and without breaking the kiss she pulled him backwards under the dark shelter of a shop doorway, out of the main thoroughfare. Searing desire pulled at his pants. When he eventually pulled back from her they were breathless and laughing, and Grissom watched her intently for a long time, the yearning in his eyes uncensored.

Maybe they should have gone home with his mother after all, he thought with regret.

He never once thought to check their surroundings or if they were being watched; there was no need to hide here, unlike in Vegas, and the freedom that came with it felt liberating.

Smiling wantonly, Sara bit her bottom lip, and gently pressing her body against his murmured in his ear, "Let's go for a swim instead."

The huskiness in her voice caused him to swallow back a sudden surge of lust. "What? Now?" he croaked.

She was beaming at him. "Why not? What's stopping us? It'll be dark soon," she added when he cocked his brow at her.

"I haven't brought my shorts."

Her face turned solemn. "Neither have I."

The sea breeze brought the smell of the ocean to him. Grinning at the challenge, he grasped her hand and took off at a brisk pace up the street and then down to the beach toward a secluded spot behind a low wall of rocks. Once there, Sara released him, dropped her purse to the sand, and kicked off her sandals.

Grissom could only watch open-mouthed, his head slowly shaking with disbelief at what she was doing.

When she turned toward him her eyes were shining with bliss and mischief, and giggling she hooked a finger at him and began walking backward toward the ocean. After a few steps she turned toward the water and skipped down the sand, her arms spread and turning in circles. She stopped at the water's edge and faced him. Her laughter stopped suddenly, her eyes clouded with desire as she pulled the hem of her dress up and over her head before discarding it to the sand.

He was mesmerised by the way the moonlight captured her face, by the way it cast dancing shadows in her eyes, and he could only stand frozen to the spot, gawking at her beauty. For a moment the roll of the ocean offered the only sound.

She untied her bra and tossed it aside. Her eyes steadfastly locked to his she teased the tip of her fingers under the waistband of her panties before pushing them down quickly and kicking them away. Then in a flash of bare flesh she turned and ran into the surf. She'd taken his teasing from the previous evening to the next level, and eyes wide in a mixture of awe and wonderment and incredulity, Grissom never made a move.

"Come on," she called merrily, echoing his words from the night before, "don't be a spoilsport!"

He didn't need to be told twice. After scanning a wary glance along the beach and finding it deserted, Grissom grinned back at her and began unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers weren't working fast enough though and he resorted to pulling it off over his head. Sara's laughter echoed in the night. Off came his shoes and socks. The smile of astonishment never left his lips as he half-jogged, half-skipped down to the water while taking off his pants. With one last quick look over his shoulder he slipped his boxers off and wadded into the water to her.

There he stopped and took a moment to watch her. Sara's giggling faded, her face taking on a serious expression as she read the yearning in his eyes. They were the colour of the ocean. He took a small step toward her, reaching out a hand out of the water to brush back a tendril of hair away from her face. She repressed a shiver, and just below the surface of the water he caught a glimpse of her breasts, hard, pert and heaving, inviting his touch.

His breath caught, and he hesitantly lowered his hand, cupping it to her left breast and closing his eyes at the overwhelming surge of desire that coursed through him. Before he could close the distance between them and kiss her, she winked and pulled away from him. He watched mesmerised as she dove into a small oncoming wave then surfaced a little further and brushed her hair back with her fingers. She looked magnificent.

"First one to the rocks!" she said breathlessly, biting her bottom lip as she once again slipped under the water.

It took a while for Sara's words to register through to him. But when they did… He shook himself out of his trance, his eyes flicking to said-rocks and laughing, took off after her. He knew she'd get there first, but what did it matter?

As long as they were together he would follow her to the end of the earth, and back.

* * *

The end.

* * *

A/N: I hope the ending wasn't disappointing, or too rushed. But as I said, time is at a premium at the moment.

Thank you again for reading, reviewing and adding the story to your favourites. Your overwhelming response to this story has bowled me over.

Du fond du cœur,

Merci.


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